Assail (51 page)

Something, it seemed, had turned the entire tent city of Wrong-way against Cartheron and his crew. Lying Gell couldn’t command that sort of loyalty, could he? But then, maybe it had something to do with them having just blown up or burned all the food in the town.

The crew, or gang, pushed through to the dock and linked with Jalaz and her squad. The entire troop now retreated up the dock. Letita kept up her punishing volleys of arrow fire. Then the springals released once more and Jute couldn’t help but duck.

The end of the dock disappeared in twin concussions that shot bodies and timber high into the air to come raining down as debris that knocked more people from the dock. When the smoke cleared, Jute glimpsed the Malazans backing away, headed for the
Ragstopper
. In their midst, lumbering like two laden oxen, struggled two of the Barghast veterans. They carried between them a huge iron trunk.

Jute almost laid his head on the ship’s railing. Oh, no … Cartheron … y’damned pirate. Don’t tell me you …

Lieutenant Jalaz came bounding up the gangway. ‘Push off!’ she yelled.

Jute blinked and shook his head; at her cry it was as if his daze from the explosion snapped away. ‘Cut that rope!’ he bellowed. ‘Push off! Lower sweeps!’

Arrows and crossbow bolts thudded into the
Dawn
’s side and Jute ducked. It looked as if the entire population of Wrongway now lined the shore. Many were striding out into the deep mud, waving swords and torches. The roar of the mingled yells and curses drowned out everything.

The
Dawn
pulled away; the gangplank tumbled into the water.

Something flaming arced from the shore to burst on the deck spreading fire. Everyone not manning the sweeps dashed to help smother the flames. More flaming pots came flying their way. All but one fell short and that one smacked the sternplate. The crew dashed water over the flames as the dock receded into the darkness behind.

‘Well,’ Ieleen said into the relative silence. ‘What got them all in a tizzy?’

Jute held his head. ‘You don’t want to know.’

Lieutenant Jalaz joined them, a helmet under an arm. ‘They’ll give chase,’ she said, and she brushed her sweaty matted hair from her face, breathing heavily.

Jute turned on her, furious. ‘Oh, you think so, do you? Think they’ll give chase –
seeing as you just stole all their damned gold!
’

But the lieutenant merely shook the blood from a deep cut across her hand. ‘Well, what in the name of the forest gods did you think we’d do?’

Jute kept his hands on his head, if only to stop himself from grabbing hold of the woman. God’s blood! Fifty ships pushing out to chase them! Nowhere to run! But … there was
one
place. He raised his head. ‘We’ve been had, dearest,’ he said.

‘How so, luv?’ Ieleen answered.

‘Cartheron … This is what he intended from the start – or was hired for!’ He thrust a finger at Jalaz. ‘Were you sent ahead?’

The woman’s face wrinkled up in a scowl. ‘What in the name of the Sky King are you talking about?’ And she cursed, studying the blood dripping to the decking from her hand. Letita had joined them and now she lifted the hand then pulled a strip of cloth from her belt and began tying up the wound.

‘Calm yourself, luv,’ Ieleen said. ‘Lieutenant – why don’t you tell us what Cartheron told you?’

Lurjen, at the tiller, cleared his throat. ‘Shall I follow the
Rag-stopper
, cap’n?’

‘Aye!’ Jute snapped. ‘We can’t let him out of our sight now, can we?’

The lieutenant shrugged. ‘He just asked whether we wanted a share o’ all that gold those lying bastards had been cheating from everyone. And we were all in, of course.’

‘Nothing else?’

‘No, why?’

Jute gestured to the dark waters of the bay. ‘Because anchored out there is a sorceress and a pocket army of mercenaries who could sweep this entire northern region if they wanted to, that’s why. And if they’re not interested in this sorry-ass tent city – then the question is … why are they here?’

Jalaz glanced ahead to the starlit bay. The dark silhouette of one ship was just visible. It appeared that the
Ragstopper
was making for them. ‘I see only one vessel.’

‘Trust me. Those are the Blue Shields out there.’

‘Bullshit.’

Jute blinked at the woman, surprised by the strength of her reaction. ‘What do you mean?’

‘Listen, Malazan, I may be from the north, but even I have heard of the Blue Shields and the Grey Swords. The Blue are not really mercenaries – they fight only for Togg. You can’t
hire
them. They’re a religious order. Fanatics.’

Jute gestured ahead again, invitingly. ‘Well, they’re here. Along with their Mortal Sword of Togg, Tyvar Gendarian.’

Giana glanced away once more, scanned the waters. She drew a hand down her face, rubbing away the sweat. ‘Great gods,’ she murmured. ‘He’s actually left Elingarth?’

‘
Ragstopper
veering east,’ Dulat, the lookout, shouted down. ‘
Resolute
and
Supplicant
drawing anchor, raising sail.’

‘What’s east of here?’ Jute asked the retired officer, though he suspected he knew.

She looked back, blew out a long hard breath. ‘Some sort of fortress at Mantle. Ruled by a fellow who calls himself King Ronal the Bastard.’

CHAPTER IX

THE LAND ROSE
the farther north Kyle travelled. He had yet to find any open water. The grasses grew far taller and thicker here, attesting to rainfall, but the high spring clouds passed on south without pausing to disgorge any of their moisture here. He pushed through lush green growing shoots that brushed his thighs. Today, he knew, he had to find some source of water or tomorrow he might not have the strength to rise. As it was, he barely made any progress at all. His vision was blurry; he often had to pause to gather his wits to remain certain of his direction; and he had to stop himself from wandering here or there in a futile search for a pond or a stream.

Straight. Straight east of north was the way to go. Upland. Wandering in circles would be the death of him. Yet he was so thirsty – he might have passed right by a creek off to one side! He was just thinking that perhaps he really ought to search about for water before it was too late when he fell forward.

He lay thinking that he’d misstepped. But no, the ground fell away here into a depression, and, strangely, his hands felt cold where they pressed against the earth.

Cold … and damp. He dug at the thick mat of grass roots that covered the earth here. It was wet and frigid. He couldn’t tear through – he was too weak. On his knees now, he drew his blade and pushed it into the ground. Two-handed, he cut a triangle, then wearily, as carefully as he could manage, he resheathed the weapon. He gathered up a handful of the grass and heaved. He had to put all his weight into it, leaning back. It came in a ripping and tearing of roots and he fell on to his back.

It took a while for the dizziness to pass.

He crawled forward and sank his arms up to the elbows to dig at the cold earth beneath. He came up with a fist of hard dirt, frosty-white, and speckled with earth. It took him a while to understand what he was looking at: the very ground frozen solid. A knot of ice that must have resided here for years, perhaps for untold centuries. He thrust the entire ball into his mouth and held it there.

The pain was exquisite. His head numbed and ached. It felt as if that knot of frost had expanded to engulf his entire body. Something told him that if anyone from another region, another land, had tried what he had just so impetuously done they would have died. Something, some power, residing in this ancient ice would have overcome them.

Yet he felt somehow … rejuvenated. He stood, steady now on his feet, and lurched onward.

He entered a wide forest of tall, ancient conifers. Game was plentiful, yet he chose not to take the time to hunt. He contented himself with fish taken from a stream. The ground rose more steeply now.

He had just crossed another shallow steam of frigid glacial runoff when a crossbow bolt slammed into a tree on the shore next to him. He froze and turned.

Two men and one woman came pushing into the water from upstream. Two covered him while the third reloaded.

‘This is our claim!’ one fellow shouted.

The accent was unfamiliar to Kyle. He kept his arms wide. ‘It is none of my business,’ he said, ‘but I do not think this land belongs to you.’

‘You’re right,’ the woman answered as she drew near. ‘It is none of your business.’

The three were armoured alike in plain soft leathers sewn with bronze rings and lozenges. The swords and crossbows they carried appeared rather shabby and mass-produced.

‘What are you doing here?’ the first fellow asked.

Kyle motioned up to the distant ridgeline. ‘Just passing through.’

The three eyed one another, uneasy. The woman looked him up and down in obvious disapproval. ‘You don’t look like you’re too well equipped to take on the ice giants, stranger.’

‘Ice giants?’

The three laughed. ‘Just arrived, hey?’ the woman said. ‘Yeah. The locals call them the Icebloods.’

‘Ah. I see.’

‘You see what?’ the woman snapped, annoyed. ‘Anyway, you’re right about that moving on.’

The other two laughed again.

Hands up, Kyle dared a small gesture to the woman. ‘If you’ll forgive me … you don’t look much like prospectors yourselves.’

She glanced to her two partners – no more than hangers on, Kyle thought them. ‘That’s right. We’re no dirt-grubbers or sifters. The plan is to guard this stretch of creek. Then, when everything else has been tapped out …’ she shrugged, ‘we offer this virgin patch on auction to the highest bidder.’ The two men nodded, grinning. ‘We should make a dock each, hey boys?’

‘That’s right, Gleeda,’ one answered.

‘And what will you do with it?’ Kyle asked.

The woman screwed up her face. ‘Do with what?’

‘This … dock. All the money.’

‘Who the fuck cares? I’ll buy a house so big there’ll be rooms I never use. I’ll eat quail eggs and fucking bird liver all day.’

‘A life of luxury. Doing nothing.’

‘That’s right.’

‘So your goal is to do nothing with your life,’ Kyle affirmed. ‘I don’t know. Sounds … pathetic to me.’

The woman’s mouth turned down and she raised her crossbow. ‘For someone on the sharp end of three bolts, you’ve got a big mouth on you, fellow. Now, you can throw
your
life away, but it would be a shame to waste a fine-looking ivory-handled sword like you got there.’

Kyle glanced to the weapon at his side. ‘I wouldn’t touch this, if I were you.’

‘Shut up. Cover him, boys.’ Gleeda carefully reached in to pull the weapon from its sheath. ‘Damn, that looks sharp,’ she said, and, cradling her crossbow in her arm, she moved to touch her thumb to it.

Kyle tensed, readying himself.

The woman goggled at the naked slit where her thumb had been. She screamed.

Kyle rolled forward through the shallow wash to kick one fellow down. A crossbow thumped, releasing. No lancing pain stabbed him so he charged onward, pulling the second fellow’s crossbow down and smashing a fist across his jaw. He turned to Gleeda. She was fumbling to bring up her own weapon. A single leap and he snatched it away and turned it on her.

Gleeda glared her bloody rage. Then her gaze went to the blade lying on the naked gravel bed of the wash. It gleamed there like glowing ivory. ‘You’re … him,’ she half mouthed. ‘That fella.’ She backed away while squeezing her mangled hand. ‘Whiteblade …’

Kyle gestured them off with the crossbow. The three stumbled back across the creek. He picked up the blade and carefully resheathed it then edged away, weapon raised until he entered the woods. He jogged on for a time. Once he’d gone far enough he shot off the bolt and slammed the weapon against a tree to break it and threw it away.

Three days later, in a valley far higher above the dry prairie plateau, he knelt at a pond of run-off next to humps of shadowed snow. Beneath the snow rested a layer of deep sapphire ice thicker than his arm. It crackled and almost seemed to steam in the heat of the gathering spring.

He was kneeling to scoop up the frigid ice-water when a voice spoke, close and gruff: ‘You are bold.’

He held out his arms, turned, and was quite startled to find a near-giant standing directly behind him. The man must have possessed a good full third again in height over Kyle, though he knew he wasn’t all that tall to begin with. The fellow wore thick leathers and possessed a wild mane of mussed brown hair tied up with leather strips, and an equally wide and bushy beard that touched his chest. A sword hung on one hip, a long-hafted axe at the other. The fellow regarded him from within his nest of hair with something like an eager grin, as if hoping Kyle would go for his sword. He kept his arms wide. ‘I’m just passing through.’

The grin broadened on the man’s ruddy features and he scratched his scalp beneath his bunched and matted hair. ‘You pass through to what? To peak? You’ll not like it there, I think.’

‘I’m looking for someone.’