Orb Sceptre Throne (98 page)

The Second signed something and the Sixth inclined her masked head. She turned to Galene. ‘They will be released. It is not our way to hide behind hostages.’

Torvald bowed. ‘Very good. My – our – thanks.’

Galene held out the red baton. ‘Once the non-combatants are clear consider your final answer carefully.’

‘You have it already,’ the Sixth replied, and the two Seguleh turned away.

Torvald and Galene watched them go. ‘Stiff-necked fools,’ she ground out. ‘They merely have to set aside their swords and all this would be behind us.’

‘Galene, I believe you are asking for the one thing they simply cannot do.’

*

Spindle and Fisher crouched in the woods, peering through the branches.

‘Looks like a parley,’ Spindle whispered.

‘Shh,’ Fisher warned. ‘We don’t want—’

Bursting eruptions of munitions drove them to the ground with their hands over their heads. Feet ran past nearby. Alarms were shouted, followed by more munitions.

Spindle raised his head for a peep. He saw a handful of Seguleh dodging for the entrance, Moranth running to intercept. Another group followed in the distance and Spindle gaped, astonished, at who was among them. He put fingers to his mouth and let go a piercing whistle. The fellow he had spotted skidded to a halt, grabbing another and gesturing.

Spindle jumped to his feet, waving. The whole group made for him.

Spindle opened his arms wide and to his further amazement Antsy accepted the greeting, giving an answering hug in return. ‘You dog!’ Spindle laughed, cuffing him.

‘What are you doin’ here?’ Antsy said. ‘Thought you were down south.’

‘You too!’ He gestured to the lad with him. ‘Who’s this?’

‘Corien,’ the lad answered. ‘Corien Lim.’

‘
Lim!
No …’

‘Fisher!’ one of the giants with Antsy suddenly bellowed. He grabbed hold of the bard and lifted him from his feet in a great bear hug.

‘Great Mother!’ Fisher cursed. ‘Cull? Cull Heel? What are you doing here!’

‘Fisher! Come back home with us, yes? You have been gone too long!’

At that moment Moranth emerged from the woods to surround them.

*

Jan ordered the release of the citizens, then saw to the defences of the main entrance. Should the Moranth return to their aerial bombardment his plan was for his people to occupy those same deepest cellars, wait for night to return, then scatter in all directions to return to Cant in ones and twos. Undignified, but perhaps the best way of ensuring that as many as possible made it out alive. His side was completely numb and he was weak from loss of blood, but if he could just avoid any further exertion he believed he might yet live to see this through.

It was here that the guards assigned to the west found him. They came escorting exhausted and bedraggled brothers and sisters whom he did not immediately recognize. It was not until one went to one knee before him that Jan realized who he was. With that understanding came a wave of anticipation that nearly caused him to faint.
Great Ancestors! Oru, the Eleventh, gone more than two years, assumed lost by so many, returned now, at such a time!

Jan moved to raise him up but restrained himself, exclaiming instead, ‘Oru!’ He then clamped down on his breathing to observe dispassionately, ‘You are returned to us. I am pleased – but you should not have come here.’

The Eleventh stood. His eyes shone now with even greater passion than Jan remembered from years ago. ‘I believe it was fated that I should do so, Second.’ He drew from his waist a small object wrapped in a fine black cloth. ‘Just as I believed it was my fate to one day find this.’

Jan stared at the flat object held so delicately in Oru’s hands.
This is it? The Unmarred? It seems so small
. His arms remained petrified at his sides. His eyes rose to meet Oru’s eager, avid gaze. ‘There can be no doubt?’

‘None, Second.’

‘Then call everyone. All must witness this.’

Oru bowed. ‘Yes … Second.’

They assembled in the main entrance foyer, all remaining of the Five Hundred. Jan was stricken through the heart to count less than one hundred. Of the Eldrii, the Ten, only he, Gall and Palla yet lived.

He raised his chin for their attention. Through the windows the sky was lightening to the dark blue and violet of a coming predawn.
Please, all our Ancestors
, he invoked, eyes on the coming day,
allow me the strength to see this through! Grant me that and you shall have me
.

‘Brothers and sisters,’ he started, his voice thick with emotion – and more. ‘In this time of our greatest testing, one who has been gone from us on a long journey has returned – with the object he vowed never to return without.’

The gathered stirred, masks shifting to the Eleventh at his side. ‘Oru,’ Jan went on, ‘hold up the Mask of our Ancestors. The Pure One crafted by the First who led us on our exile …’ Even as he repeated the traditional words of invocation a sudden new realization came to Jan and their meaning shifted, taking on an utterly new significance. His breath caught at the truth of this new formulation. Everything made sense now: his people’s fate, their exile. It came to him that this must be what others describe as a religious awakening.

He took a renewing breath and continued, louder, his voice rough. ‘… on our exile … which was in truth a deliverance. A flight from slavery and a flight from our shame. Crafted in the hope of an eventual redemption, a cleansing of our past.’

Oru pulled off the black covering and held up above his head a pure unmarred mask carved from the same translucent bright stone as the Legate’s throne. In the gathering brightness of dawn it seemed to glow with an inner light. All those present stared immobile. It seemed to Jan that a great easing of some long-held breath escaped from them all, and as one they bowed to one knee, heads lowered.

‘A sign,’ he continued. ‘A promise. An offering sent from our past to our future. One we hope to one day be worthy of. One which belongs to
all
our people and must be returned to await that future safe in the temple at Cant.’

At these words the Third, Gall, straightened. ‘Nay! Take it, Second. Don it! With you at our head we will sweep these Moranth before us and return triumphant!’

‘No! It must not be taken up in anger or bloodshed. That would taint it beyond redemption. No, this artefact is too important for us few here to risk its destruction. We shall accede to the Moranth demands so that we may see it brought safely home.’

‘To that decision I give my fullest support.’ A new voice spoke up from the back of the assembly – which parted swiftly as Seguleh drew blades against the newcomer.

Jan and Gall both peered, squinting. Jan recognized Lo first, then his son and some girl. And with them one other, and as soon as he looked at this man he recognized him and knew him for what he was, and what he
could
be, all in one transfiguring instant. He knew then what he must do.

Gall turned his back on Lo, the Eighth, and the man who all knew must be the slayer of Blacksword, the presumed Seventh. He faced Jan. ‘We must not put down our swords. How can we abandon what it means to be Seguleh? It is not for you to propose such a thing.’

Jan felt remarkably calm in the face of what all others present must see as an inexcusable insult. The Third’s behaviour was nothing less than a direct challenge. Jan knew that was exactly what Gall intended.
Yet I am not strong enough! I will fall and all I have just glimpsed will be lost to us! Please, Gall, my old friend. Stand aside just this once
…

After a long bracing breath Jan’s answer emerged level and strong: ‘I propose it because I have seen what we could all too easily become – what we must
never
become.’

The Third reached out as if begging something of him. In his gaze Jan saw the reluctance, the torment of his position. ‘Please,’ he whispered. ‘Do not drive me to what duty demands of me …’

‘I have spoken, Third,’ Jan said. ‘It shall be as I say.’

And Gall said what Jan knew he felt he must as Third: ‘Then I challenge you.’

*

After the Seguleh left to return inside, Torvald waited with Galene. She tapped the red baton in her palm, shaking her helmed head. ‘I fear we have our answer,’ she murmured. ‘I’m sorry. But once word comes that your fellow councillors are clear, I am compelled to act.’

Gods protect us!
Torvald turned away to study the vista of Darujhistan spread out below in the coming light of the east. The various fires appeared to have been mastered, the looming threat of a firestorm feeding gas eruptions circumvented. For that he gave thanks.
One miracle. Dare he hope for another?

‘Couldn’t you—’

‘No.’ She rubbed her leg, hissing with pain. ‘If it were up to me alone … perhaps. But I am not here on my own. I must think of my people. We cannot allow this threat to exist.’

‘Then I am sorry as well, because I have no idea how the Council will take this. There may be war between us.’

‘Perhaps.’

A party of Black troopers jogged up. One saluted Galene. ‘A small group that contained Seguleh were allowed through the cordon.’

Galene straightened, outraged. ‘Allowed through? On whose authority?’

Another of the troopers saluted. ‘Mine, Commander.’

Torvald studied the last speaker. He appeared to be the oldest Moranth he’d seen yet. The chitinous plates of his armour were thick, cracked and lined. He bore the countless scarifications and gouges of a veteran of many battles.

Galene nodded to the trooper. ‘Master Sergeant. Your record is beyond reproach. Why have you done this?’

The veteran bowed. ‘M’lady. You know I was among the first contingent serving alongside the Malazans. I fought with them for decades. I allowed that party through because of the man who was with them. Though it has been many years, I recognized him. I would know him anywhere. He was Dassem, the First Sword of the Empire.’

Torvald couldn’t believe what he was hearing. The First Sword? Here? Was this credible?

Galene’s voice was barely audible: ‘That is impossible.’

‘Elect,’ the veteran continued, a new edge in his voice, ‘must I remind you that our treaty of alliance with the Malazans included Dassem as a signatory?’

‘And if he lives …’

‘Exactly, Elect. If he lives … then contrary to what we had assumed, that treaty is not void.’

*

Crowded within the rear of the hall, Yusek whispered to Sall, ‘What’s goin’ on?’

‘A challenge for leadership,’ he answered just as low.

‘If this is how things get resolved then I’m surprised there’s any of you above Fiftieth.’

He turned to regard her more closely. ‘Yusek – no one will be hurt. At this level it will all be over before you or I notice.’

‘And if someone was hurt?’

‘Then, consider. I see only the Sixth and Third with us now. That means this man, the Seventh, could be within one or two ranks of Second.’

‘That’s not why I came here,’ the Seventh growled.

‘Yet it is our way,’ Sall murmured, undeterred.

Palla came to Jan’s side, whispering, fierce: ‘Do not accept! There is something wrong … I see it. You’re wounded.’

‘I must answer or stand aside – as you well know.’
How to salvage this? The future I foresaw mustn’t be lost to us!
‘Will you second me?’ he asked.

‘Of course,’ she answered, nearly choking.

‘No challenges here!’ a voice called from the crowd and a Hundredth stepped forward. Horul. ‘This must wait until we return to Cant.’ A strange panic filled her voice. ‘Before the temple …’

Oru signed a negative. ‘The challenge has been made. It must be answered. What say you, Second?’

Jan inclined his head to the Eleventh. ‘I accept.’

Gall bowed, then looked around; by tradition the next highest ranked present or available should second him … the Seventh.

Lo extended a hand, inviting the dark-skinned Malazan forward. The man shot him a glare but the gathered Seguleh parted and so he reluctantly advanced.

As he passed through the ranks some reached out reverently to the sword wrapped in rags on his back and Yusek heard them murmuring a word. ‘What’s that they’re saying?’ she whispered to Sall.

‘Many say the sword on his back is the Son of Darkness’s own. The very one that defeated him. They are saying what legends hold as its oldest name – Grief.’

The four gathered near the centre of the hall and all the assembled Seguleh backed away to the walls. ‘Challenge has been issued,’ Gall called out.

‘And accepted,’ Jan answered.

Palla stepped forward. ‘As honour has been met I ask that said challenge be withdrawn.’ And she added so low that only the four gathered could hear: ‘If you proceed in this, Gall, then I will challenge you.’

‘Do as you feel you must,’ he answered, equally low. ‘Just as I must.’

‘Now you say that the challenge will proceed,’ Jan prompted the Seventh.

The Seventh studied the Second. He looked him up and down. For a long time he let his gaze linger on Jan’s wounded side. ‘Is this what you wish?’ he asked finally, uncertain.