Orb Sceptre Throne (90 page)

But it was his show from this point onward.

As the afternoon edged into a warm humid evening they reached the alley at the back of K’rul’s bar. They stacked the crates in the kitchen and then, completely drained, staggered upstairs to rest.

The Great Hall of Darujhistan glittered with the silken finery of the city’s female aristocracy vying to display the most intricate and, to Lady Envy’s eyes, most cumbersome and uncomfortable dresses. Jewellery was heaped upon jewellery in a – really, quite vulgar – draping of necklaces, brooches, tiaras, bracelets and jewelled sashes.

It was all rather sadly disappointing. Not at all what she’d hoped it would be.

No one here appeared sophisticated enough to appreciate the fine subtleties she brought to the court in her exquisitely understated dress and cut of hair. It was dispiriting. Even here parochialism reigned. These young beauties of the noble families: what did they know of true elegance and natural grace? Nothing at all! Empty-headed adornments, they!

She’d tried engaging the Legate in conversation. ‘Legate’ indeed! How amusing. But only the sweaty little fellow would answer. It was almost embarrassing.

Then that young upstart approached her. Here! In front of everyone!
Mortifying!

‘You are Lady Envy,’ she said, and she curtsied in her floating dancing scarves prettily enough.

‘And you are Vorcan’s daughter.’

‘I am.’

‘You … dance, I take it?’

A smile, revealing small sharp teeth. ‘And much more.’

‘I’m sure …’

‘Had you met my mother?’

‘No. But I was a great admirer of hers.’

‘Oh? How so?’

‘She knew her place.’

The smile disappeared into a straight colourless slit pulled back over teeth. ‘Careful. This court tolerates you now but that may change.’

‘I’d rather thought it was the other way round, myself.’

A confused clenching of the eyes as the girl tried to work out Envy’s meaning.

Oh, please! Mother Dark deliver me
… Envy simply walked away.

Bored. I am bored. So utterly bored!

West of the Maiten River Ambassador Aragan called a halt to any further advance and ordered K’ess to dig a defensive line against any possible attack. Darujhistan’s sapphire glow was just visible yet strangely dim, muted, and Aragan wondered if perhaps smoke obscured it. Here they would wait while their temporary allies, the Moranth, proceeded with their plans.

Negotiations had been nerve-racking to say the least. The Moranth wanted to end things with a finality that was terrifying; and Aragan was hard pressed to blame them. His heart also went out to this Councillor Nom. The poor fellow, having to stand by while the fate of his city was debated by outsiders.

After much back and forth, with Mallick himself speaking through the Sceptre, an accord was reached, backed up by Malazan assurances. This was as far as they would go while the Moranth launched the fought-for compromise. But if this first gambit failed, the Moranth were firm, they would unleash a full assault. Then would come the firestorm. A city consumed. Y’Ghatan all over again.

Aragan prayed to all the Elder Gods it would not come to that. And he pondered yet again on the question that so tormented him: what would he do? If the fires should start – what would he do? Order the troops in to help the citizenry escape, thus endangering them? Or merely stand by and watch while countless thousands were consumed in flames? How could he live with himself then? How could any of them?

*

Just inland from Lake Azur, in his tent next to the barrow of the Son of Darkness, Caladan Brood, the Warlord, pushed aside the cloth flap of his tent to face the darkening evening. He frowned, revealing even more of his prominent canines, and sniffed the air. His glance went to the west, then over to the city, and a low growl sounded deep within his throat.

He ducked back within to put on his leathers and strap on his hammer.

Can’t let what I think’s in the air happen. No. Enough is enough. Not after all we’ve fought for. Have to put an end to it before it all gets out of hand. And frankly, better if I take the blame than anyone else
.

*

South of the city, heading up what was named Cutter Lake Road, Yusek gaped at every building they passed.
Two storeys! Almost every building has two storeys! It’s incredible
. Already they’d passed more shops and inns and stables than she’d ever imagined – and they’d not even reached the city walls!

The Seventh led though his pace was glacially slow, almost reluctant. A permanent grimace of pain seemed fixed on his face. He’d muttered that no one seemed to be about.

Yet she’d seen more people than she’d ever seen since her refugee days. And these people certainly weren’t ragged drifters. Many were finely dressed. Some were even plump. Imagine, having so much to eat that you could get fat! Now
that’s
damned rich. She’d be that rich one day. She could taste the duck fat already. Soon it’d be her who was fat!

Then abruptly the Seventh raised a hand for a halt. He regarded the darkening sky, the glow Yusek knew was the fabled gas lighting of Darujhistan. That glow struck her as far less than the green blaze of the Scimitar above and she thought it probably overrated.
Damned typical!
The Seventh turned to Sall and Lo. ‘You Seguleh have stirred up a hornets’ nest and now they’re come to bite everyone. I don’t know what I can do.’

‘Will you challenge?’ Sall asked.

The man flinched, anguished. ‘No! It’s not my place … yet something’s wrong. Something’s very wrong.’

‘But … you will help, yes?’ Sall asked. It was the closest the youth had come to a plea that Yusek had heard.

The Seventh’s mouth worked with suppressed emotion as he looked away. Finally, he ground out: ‘My record isn’t that encouraging.’ But he did start walking once more, his head lowered.

*

Spindle was dead asleep when he heard his ma’s voice calling him down in its old familiar cadence:
Get your lazy arse out of bed!
He fell to the floor, arms and legs flailing in panic. Then he froze dead still. Something had woken him. Something that raised the hair on his head and on his shirt. A sound.

The sound of bottles clanking together.

He flew to the door, rebounded from the jamb, then threw it open and tumbled out into the hall to pound to the common room, yelling: ‘It’s poison! Don’t drink it!’

Blend spat out a great mouthful of drink over the bar and down her front. ‘Gaah! What?
Poisoned
?’

Spindle hurried over to yank the bottle from her hand and sniff it.

‘Fisher just brought it!’ she complained, wiping her shirt. ‘Kanese red.’

Spindle nodded to the bard, then examined the bottle. ‘Red? Really? Sorry.’ He handed back the bottle. ‘Sorry.’

Blend gave him the withering glare she reserved for hopeless idiots. The one he always got. He gestured to the kitchens. ‘Thought you was using those other bottles, from the back. They’re not wine.’

‘So they’re wine bottles without wine in them.’

‘That’s right.’

‘Paid extra for that, did you?’

‘No! I mean, shut the Abyss up.’ He faced Fisher and poured himself a glass of red. ‘So, what’s the news?’

The bard nodded. He was a tall man, rangy, yet from what Spindle had seen surprisingly strong. Even leaning on a high stool he was still taller than Spindle. Something in the mage resented that. ‘I was just telling Blend,’ the bard said. ‘Whispers from the court. The Seguleh have been defeated out west. The Moranth. And maybe … the Malazans.’

Spindle and Blend shared a look.
Damned right
. She raised her glass and they drank.

‘Word is they may be expecting an attack.’

Blend waved a hand. ‘Ridiculous. No one has an army big enough to enter Darujhistan, let alone pacify it.’

Fisher lifted his shoulders, conceding he point. ‘That we know of … In any case, the Seguleh have withdrawn to Majesty Hill. Looks like they don’t plan on contesting the city.’

‘Why should they when the mob will do it for them? No, Aragan doesn’t have nearly enough troops. And if the Moranth enter, the entire city will rise against them. Always been bad blood here between them, so I heard.’

Fisher held up his hands. ‘Just reporting what I heard.’ He lifted his glass to Blend. ‘So, what do you think’s happening, then?’

The big woman – big now that she was putting on weight – swirled the wine in her glass, peering down at it. Her hair held more than a touch of grey amid the brown curls and dark circles bruised her eyes.
We’re none of us gettin’ enough sleep these days
, Spindle reflected.
Watchin’ the streets. Too many days waitin’ on edge. Waitin’ for the hammer to fall. Like being back on campaign, it is. Only we’re damned older
.

‘So they got their noses bloodied,’ she said, speculating. ‘Now they’ll just sit tight an’ consolidate here in the city. Firm up their grip an’ wait …’ She cocked her head, eyeing Fisher. ‘How many Seguleh do you think there are on that isle of theirs anyway?’

‘Well, there must be several … thousand … No. You don’t think so, do you?’

She shrugged at the uncertainty of it. ‘Why not? These boys and girls we’re looking at here could just be the tip of the spear. A whole army of them could be on the way. A whole people.’

Spindle felt sick to his stomach.
Togg deliver them! An entire army of these people? That was too much to imagine
. ‘I need to eat somethin’. I feel faint.’ He took his glass to the kitchen.

*

In a dark empty shop, its floor littered with broken wares and shattered furniture, stood a hulking stone statue inlaid with a mosaic of jade, lapis lazuli and serpentine chips. Its stone gleamed slick with oils and it was slathered in caked powders. The ash of a forest of burnt rare wood sticks lay about its feet, all now long cold. Mice scampering between its wide stone feet suddenly stilled. The bats that perched in the rafters above its head ceased their bickering. They tilted their big pointed ears, listening to the stillness.

Beneath them a grinding noise broke the silence as the statue grated its head to the left, and then ponderously to the right. At its sides further scraping of stone sounded as its fists opened and closed. In agonizing slow motion it leaned forward to grind one carved stone boot out before it across the littered floor. It paused there for a time as if testing its balance. Then it took another step.

We forge our weapons so that they may never be used.

Moranth saying

ONCE MORE TORVALD
gripped the handles of the quorl saddle and hunched behind Galene’s engraved reflective back. Now that he’d grown accustomed to the noise of flight the experience seemed eerily quiet. The straps and jesses snapped in the rushing wind and the near-invisible wings hummed and hissed. Other than this constant background murmur a serene silence reigned.

He fancied he could almost hear the waves of Lake Azur just beneath as they whipped by, so close it seemed he could reach down and touch them. For they were far out over the lake, scudding over the night-dark waves, headed for Darujhistan. Scarves of cloud passed overhead obscuring the mottled reborn moon with its muted pewter glow. The jade banner of the Scimitar also loomed high among the stars. It seemed to have grown perceptibly of late. He’d heard grumbling among the troops that it was about to smash into the land in a great explosion that would mark the end of the world. Brought about, many claimed, by the hubris of the gods.