Orb Sceptre Throne (99 page)

Jan allowed himself a stiff nod. ‘Yes. It is what I wish.’

‘Very well.’ He raised his voice: ‘The challenge proceeds.’

The two seconds withdrew. Gall stepped away from Jan to make room.

Jan eased his weapon free. The moment the challenge was issued he had known what he had to do. It would be his most difficult performance ever. Weakened as he was he did not know if he could succeed. Yet he must. He would give all he had left. Even if it meant destroying a friend. He shouted to Gall: ‘In all the times we’ve fought you’ve never come close. What have you planned this time?’

‘What is he doing?’ Palla murmured, thinking aloud. ‘He’s never taunted anyone before.’

‘He’s setting him up,’ the Seventh answered grimly.

Palla turned to the Malazan. ‘
What?
’ but then swords clashed.

The instant their swords met Jan manoeuvred Gall to his wounded side. The Third came on with more passion and power than he had ever displayed in all the years upon the practice sands. But Jan had been one of his teachers and knew what Gall would do before he knew himself.
It must be quick – already I’m weakening. No hint. He mustn’t have time to pull the thrust
.

I’m sorry, my friend. In so many ways you are the most honourable of all of us. But this must be so
.

Yusek stared, appalled and fascinated. Gods, it was so beautiful! So elegant. This was not the bashing and grunting she’d known. This was more like dance. A dance of nerves, flesh, and razor-sharp iron.

~

The time had come. Jan knew he could delay no longer; he was about to fall. Already in his parries and turns he had been preparing the way, leaving his hurt side slightly open. And now in an over-extended riposte he began a recovery that would invite the counter-thrust, and in the fraction of a heartbeat that committed Gall to making the move he reversed his recovery and advanced to meet the sword that was already flashing towards him and the razor-edged blade slid in as smoothly as if pushing through cloth.

Yusek could not be sure. It looked to her as if the Third deliberately thrust the Second through the side even as he was turning to him. She could not contain a scream at the ugly shock of it. Hers was the only cry in the utterly silent hall.

Palla did not move.
This is not happening
, she told herself.
Such things do not happen
. Yet the Second lay with the Third’s sword through his side. Only by conscious effort could she move her legs. She and the Seventh approached. All others remained immobile, hushed. Shocked beyond all reaction, perhaps.

Gall stood frozen. He stared at his empty hands as if in disbelief. He raised his gaze and there through the mask Palla saw desolation. ‘I didn’t …’ he groaned.

‘I know,’ the Seventh answered.

They knelt at Jan’s side. He lived still, panting, his breath wet. ‘Oru,’ he rasped.

‘Eleventh!’ Palla called.

A crash sounded close by: Gall had fallen to his knees, his hands covering his face. He rocked himself and shuddered with silent tears.

Oru ran to them. The Second swallowed hard to whisper: ‘My last request, Oru.’ His voice was slurred. ‘Offer the mask to the Seventh.’

‘What?’ Palla gasped. ‘No. You will live! There is no need.’

The Seventh jerked upright. ‘Do not offer this thing to me.’

‘You must,’ the Second barely mouthed. ‘You will take us … home.’ His eyes, behind their blood-spattered mask, closed.

‘Jan!’ Palla grated, her lips clenched against a ferocious scream. ‘Jan!’

‘He is dead,’ Oru said. The Eleventh straightened and turned to face the gathered Seguleh. He studied the mask he held in both hands.

After a long moment he raised his head to be seen by all present, turning a full circle. ‘All you know me,’ he began, his voice low. ‘You know that years ago a vision came to me – a vision that I could find our lost legacy, our birthright. You also know that by tradition the mark of the First cannot be taken … it can only be offered. I came fully intending to offer it to our Second. But he refused. His last request was that it be offered to the Seventh …

‘But,’ he continued, after a hard breath, ‘we are Seguleh. We must not forget who we are. And with us rank is paramount. Therefore … I am bound by tradition. By duty. By our ancient code. To offer this mask of the Unmarred, the First, to the Third.’

He turned to where Gall crouched rocking himself in mute anguish. ‘Third – do you accept?’

His face still covered, the man gave one savage negative jerk of his head.

Oru turned to Palla next. ‘Sixth. Do you accept?’

Throughout, Palla had not taken her eyes from the dead Second. Without looking up, she shook her head.

Oru turned to the Seventh. ‘It has come to you, Seventh. Do you accept?’

The man raised a hand. ‘A moment – there is one here who may choose to dispute this.’

Oru cocked his head, thinking, then turned to the entrance. ‘Eighth,’ he called. ‘Will you approach?’

Lo started forward. Sall moved to follow then stopped to point a finger at Yusek. ‘You, stay here.’

‘No fucking kidding,’ she answered under her breath.

Lo came to Oru’s side. The Seventh faced him. ‘Tell me, Eighth. If this mask came to you what would you do?’

The lean man gave an indifferent shrug. Behind his mask his eyes were half lidded, almost lazy. ‘Challenge has been issued. It must be met.’

Aside, Sall started forward, drawing breath, but a sign from Lo checked him.

The Seventh let out a ragged breath. ‘Gods – they say never gamble with the Seguleh and now I know why.’ He glared at the Eighth. His deep blue eyes shaded dark as his hands worked at his sides. ‘Damn you, Lo. You’re determined not to leave me any room …’ Lowering his voice even more he growled, ‘I’m of half a mind to call your bluff.’

‘But you won’t.’ The Eighth motioned Oru closer. The Eleventh held out the mask.

Wordless, the Seventh snatched the sword from his back and shook the rags from it. Hissed breaths escaped from a hundred throats as the blackwood sheath was revealed, the hilt all blued to night black, and the sable stone orb that was its pommel. The Seventh tied it to his belt then raised his face to the gathering. ‘I do not claim to be unmarred myself,’ he began, and emotion cracked his voice, stopping him. After a moment he continued: ‘Far from it. However, I accept this honour in the promise that perhaps one day I will prove worthy of it.’

He took the translucent white stone mask from Oru’s hands and raised it to his face.

*

‘Damned quiet in there,’ Torvald murmured aloud just to hear someone speak – the Moranth were utterly silent. Pink and gold bands now brightened the undersides of clouds to the east. Dawn was coming. The Moranth remained battle-ready. They appeared to fully expect the Seguleh to come charging out at any moment. And if that did happen, from what he’d seen he personally didn’t think anything would stop them.

A Black messenger came jogging up to Galene and saluted. ‘Noncombatants captured on the grounds, Elect.’

‘Who?’

‘A citizen, Malazans, and other foreigners.’

‘Malazans and foreigners? What are they doing here?’

‘They looked to have come to help fight.’

‘Well, release them and warn them off.’

The Black saluted. ‘Very good.’ He moved to leave.

‘Where are the councillors?’ Torvald asked.

The messenger looked to his commander. Galene waved to allow an answer. ‘They have been escorted off the hill.’

‘Thank you.’

Galene faced Torvald. She crossed her arms, the red baton still in one hand. ‘I’m sorry, Councillor. I can’t delay much longer. We will withdraw and then I will be forced to signal.’

‘I’m damned sorry as well. This will destroy our relations for ages to come.’

Galene nodded her understanding. ‘You are sounding more and more like a councillor, Nom of Nom.’ She turned to an aide and signed. He ran off, signalling to others as he went. The Moranth Black troops stirred, readying to withdraw. ‘We will be last,’ she told him.

Together, they watched the troops back away, making for stairs and twisting roadways down Majesty Hill. Torvald’s gaze kept returning to the blasted main entrance.
What are you bastards doing in there? Do you mean to hide it out?

Then movement caught his eye and he shouted, near panicked, ‘Galene! Someone’s coming!’

She spun to the entrance, a hand going to her sword.

A small party of Seguleh approached – not the all-out charge they’d been fearing. From their masks these men and women represented the top leadership of the people. One fellow, however, carried a far heavier build and was far darker of skin, as dark as many Malazans, in fact. And the mask he wore blazed white in the dawn’s light as if glowing. Torvald squinted even more closely at it:
was it
…

He turned to Galene. ‘That mask! It’s—’

‘Yes. I see,’ she answered, and there was something in her voice that Torvald had never heard – what might have been a touch of awe. She crossed her arms, awaiting the party.

The four Seguleh, three men and one woman, stopped short of Galene. The lead one, not even of their stock it seemed to Torvald, matched Galene’s crossed arms. ‘You are the Elect in charge of this assault group?’ he asked, speaking barbarously accented Daru.

‘I am Galene.’ Then she bowed to the man. ‘Greetings, First. This is an unlooked-for honour.’

First
, Torvald wondered? This was the man, then? But
which
First? And still Torvald did not know him, as the mask obscured his face.

‘I propose to lead the Seguleh south, to Cant. You have my word that we shall never return. What say you?’ His gaze slid aside to another of the Seguleh, one bearing ten hatch marks on his mask, and he continued: ‘Shall there be any challenge between us, Elect?’

Galene uncrossed her arms. Her armour gleamed mirror-like in the gathering light. ‘There can be no challenge between us, First.’

He gave the slightest dip of his head in salute. ‘Very good. We will leave by the Worrytown gate. Notify your forces.’

Galene saluted. ‘Done. First …’ she called as he turned away.

‘Yes?’

‘I am … relieved.’

The man bowed briefly again. ‘As am I.’

Torvald watched them go.
Wondrous gods! Was that it then? Done? Finished?
Wordless, suddenly exhausted, he watched Galene exchange the red baton for one of gold. This she held skyward and twisted. Some sort of munition shot from it, launched into the still deep-blue sky, where it burst into a sizzling amber flame. Torvald watched it drift like a burning flower, smoking and popping.

*

To the west of Darujhistan Captain Fal-ej nudged Fist K’ess, who looked then nudged Ambassador Aragan, who jerked, blinking, and squinted to the city. He then turned to Attaché Torn.

‘What is it?’

‘A signal.’

Aragan bit back a sharp reply; instead he examined the quorls filling the fields around them. Hours ago they’d swooped down and landed in order to conserve their strength and wait out the night. None stirred now. No orders were shouted to mount.

‘Which?’ he asked, dread choking in his throat.

Torn turned his helmed head to Aragan. ‘It is the call to stand down. It seems, Ambassador, that the Elect has met with some sort of victory.’

Victory? Against over a hundred Seguleh?
He didn’t think that possible. But then, they would hardly have surrendered, would they? ‘Now what?’

‘Now?’ Torn indicated the quorls, now readying, rising to flight, all unburdened, carrying only single riders. ‘The assault group will be extracted. And then we shall have a report.’

Aragan watched the quorls lift off and flitt away, making for the glow and drifting smoke over Darujhistan. Twin wakes followed some passing low over flooded fields nearby.
And what a report that will be
…

Not far off Sergeant Little nudged her squad awake to motion to the disappearing quorls. ‘Looks like a pick-up,’ she said. ‘Must be what those officer types call “a cessation of hostilities”.’

‘Sounds so pretty when you say it, Little,’ one trooper called out.

‘Music to my ears,’ Bendan murmured, half awake. ‘We gonna move out?’

Little shifted where she lay on one elbow. ‘Don’t know.’

‘We’ll pull back to Pale,’ Bone opined while he picked at his teeth. ‘Re-garrison. Won’t they be happy to see us.’

‘Pale! That pit,’ someone grumbled. ‘Nothing there.’

‘Don’t matter,’ Bendan sighed. ‘All the same to us.’

Little eyed him where he lay with an arm over his face. ‘That’s right, trooper. All the same to us.’

And did we not know the sweetest lassitude there

bathed in such silken glow?

How sad we must part, for the stars command

and none can forestall their turning upon the great