Return of the Crimson Guard (6 page)

The magus slowly raised his arms straight outwards from its body as if he were a bird about to take flight. Greymane took a breath to speak but stopped, glancing sharply to one side. Three figures, two men and one woman, all wearing wind-whipped dark cloaks, approached up the colonnaded walk. Three whom Kyle knew for certain had not come with the party. Greymane cursed under his breath. Smoky blew on his hands and kneaded them together.

The Guardsmen edged aside for these three. The lead one Kyle knew for Cowl, hatchet-faced, bearing blue curled tattoos at his chin and a thatching of pearly knife-scars at his neck. His seconds Kyle assumed to be Keitil, a dark-faced plainsman like himself though from a place called Wick. And Isha, a wide solid woman with long, coarse dark hair woven in a single braid. All three were Veils, covert killers – mercenary assassins.

Greymane shot a look to Smoky who shrugged, saying, ‘The Brethren must've gone to him.’

‘I see you've made some headway,’ Cowl called to Greymane.

The renegade hunched his shoulders and bit down any response. He finally ground out, ‘I don't want your kind of help.’

Cowl waved a gloved hand. ‘Then by all means – bring it to a close either way. If you can.’

Greymane shifted his gaze to the immobile magus.
‘Your
solution's always the same. It requires no thought …’

‘Something's up,’ Smoky warned.

The magus had bent his head back to regard the clouds above. He edged his arms up further, straight, hands open, fingers splayed. The thick wool sleeves of his robes fell away revealing the blue swirling tattoos of spirals and waves encircling both arms – from his hands all
the way up to his naked shoulders: the assembled symbols of Wind.

‘No!’ Kyle choked out. A Spirit of Wind! He must be! A Blessed Ancestor – so claim his tribe's teachings. Kyle lurched forward, opened his mouth to call out. A warning? A plea?

But Cowl shouted,
‘Get down
’

The magus stretched his arms high, reached up as if grasping the clouds. His hands clenched into fists then the arms snapped down.

A fusillade of lightning lashed the Spur. The barrage seemed to drive the stone down beneath their feet. Men howled all around, true terror cracking their voices. Kyle fell as the rock kicked back at him. The continuous flashing blinded him. He lay with his arms over his head, shouting wordlessly, begging that it end.

The storm passed. Thunder crashed and grumbled off across the leagues of plains surrounding them. Kyle raised his head, blinking. He felt as if he had been beaten all over by lengths of wood. All around Guardsmen dragged themselves upright, groggy and groaning. Incredibly, Greymane still stood. Kyle wondered whether anything could drive him from his feet – though he was wincing and had his face bent to one shoulder to shield his eyes. Smoky lay motionless on the floor. Stoop was cradling the mage's head and examining his eyes.

The magus had not moved at all; he stood now with his arms crossed.

Kyle crawled to Stoop. ‘Will he be all right?’

Stoop cuffed the mage's cheek. ‘Think so. He's a tough one.’

Kyle peered around; Cowl and his two followers were gone. ‘Where are the Veils?’

‘They're on the job.’

Kyle straightened up. ‘What do you mean?
On the job?’

The old saboteur jerked his head to the magus.

‘No!’ Kyle pushed himself to his feet.

‘Lad?’ Stoop squinted up. ‘What's that, lad?’

‘They can't. They mustn't…’

Stoop took hold of Kyle's arm. ‘The fiend's a menace to everyone. We've had a hand in its rousing so we ought to—’

‘No! He hasn't threatened anyone.’

Stoop just shook his head. ‘Sorry. That's not the way things work. We can't risk it.’

Kyle pulled away and staggered out to the courtyard.

‘Lad!’

As he ran, he could not help flinching with every step. He was certain that at any instant lightning would blast him into charred
flesh. But nothing struck. No lightning flashed, nor one crossbow bolt flew – he also feared summary justice from the Guard for his disobedience. There were shouts; the voices garbled through the howling wind. The magus remained as immobile as any one of the other stone statues decorating the court. His heavy-browed head was cocked to one side as if he were listening. Listening for some distant message.

Kyle vaulted benches, crossed mosaics of inlaid white and pink stone. At some point he had drawn his sword – perhaps not the wisest thing to do while charging a magus or possible Ascendant. But he would have to stop to sheathe it, and he couldn't bring himself to throw it away either. Somewhere about lurked Cowl and his two Veils.

‘Ancient One!’ he shouted into the gusting, lashing wind.
‘Look out!
’

The being uncrossed his arms. His crooked smile grew. Cowl appeared then at the man's back: he just stepped out from empty air. Something unseen tripped Kyle, sending him tumbling and sliding along the slick rock. Cowl struck with a blurred lashing of both arms.

Kyle yelled his frustrated rage. The world burst into shards of white light. He spun while an explosion boomed out. The noise echoed and re-echoed, transforming into a terrifying world-shaking laughter that roared on and on while he spun falling and tumbling, terrified that it would never end or that he would at any instant smash to pieces upon rocks.

Distantly, beneath the roaring, he heard a woman say in the Guard's native tongue, ‘So, what in Shadow's smile was that?’

A man answered, ‘I'm not sure.’

‘Did you connect?’

‘Yes, surprisingly. Solid. At the end though – strange. Still, he's gone for good. I'm sure.’

The woman spoke again, closer, ‘What of this one?’

‘He's alive. Looks like the sword took most of the blast.’

A hand, cool and wet, held his chin, edged his head back and forth. The woman asked, ‘Can you hear me?’

Kyle couldn't answer. It was as if had lost all contact with his flesh. Slowly, darkness gathered once more: a soft furry dark that smothered his awareness. The woman spoke again but her voice was no more than a murmur. Then silence.

Pain jabbed him awake. A fearsome blazing from his right hand. Blearily, he raised it to his eyes and found it swaddled in rags. He frowned, tried to remember something.

‘With us again, hey?’ a familiar hoarse voice asked.

He edged his head up, hissed at the bursts of starry pain that throbbed within his skull. Stoop was sitting next to him. They were within one of the rooms carved from black basalt. A guardsman sat propped up against a wall beyond Stoop. Rags wrapped his face where one brown eye stared out, watching him like a beacon burning far off on the plains at night.

Kyle looked away, swallowed to wet his throat. ‘What – what happened?’

Stoop shrugged, drew a clay pipe from a pouch at his belt. ‘Cowl knifed the magus, or Ascendant, or whatever by the Cult of Tragedy he was. Lightning like the very end of creation like some religions keep jabbering on about came blasting down right then and there and when it stopped only the Veils were left standing. Not a single sign left of the bugger. Burst into ashes. You're damned lucky to be alive. Left your hand crisp as a flame-cooked partridge though.’

Kyle peered at the dressings. Gone? Killed? ‘How could that be?’

With his thumb, Stoop tamped rustleaf into the pipe bowl. ‘Oh, you don't know Cowl like I do. Ain't nothing alive he can't kill.’ ’ Stoop, leaned close. ‘I told ‘em you was rushing in to do him in yourself. You know – make your name for yourself an’ all that. Something like “The Damned Fool with the Flaming Hand”. Something like that. If you understand me.’

Kyle snorted a laugh then held his throbbing head and groaned. ‘Yeah. I understand. So, now what?’

Stoop clamped the pipe between his teeth. ‘So now we wait. The wind's dying. Soon it will be safe enough to take the basket down. Our contract's finished now.’

‘Did you succeed?’

Stoop's grey bushy brows drew together. ‘Succeed? What're you gettin’ at?’

‘Stealing your thunder.’

The old saboteur sighed, took his pipe from his mouth and shoved it back into his pouch. ‘Now, lad, don't get yourself all in a—’

‘You knew some
thing
or some
one
was up here, didn't you? All along?’ He pushed himself up to one elbow, tried to get up on a knee. Stoop took him under the arm and pulled him upright. He leaned against the cool reviving wall. He pressed his left hand to his forehead to stop its spinning. ‘That's why you came here in the first place, isn't it? Why you took this contract – even though it was a strange one for the Guard?’

Stoop hovered at Kyle's side, ready should he faint. ‘Now, no need to get all lathered up. Sure we suspected there was something worth our time up here. Otherwise we would've kept right on going. I'm sorry that you ‘n’ him were both pledged to Wind.’

Kyle laughed.
Pledged!

That's just unfortunate. That's all. Why, us soldiers, we're used to that. Half the men I've killed were sworn to Togg, same as myself. Doesn't mean nothing, lad.’

Kyle shook his head. ‘You don't understand.’ How could anyone not of his people see that that being must have been a Wind Spirit itself. And they killed it. Yet how could Cowl, a mere mortal, kill a spirit? Surely that was impossible.

‘Well, maybe we don't understand. We're just passing through Bael lands after all.’ Struth. But I know there is one thing we understand and you don't.’ Stoop pointed to the west. ‘The Guard is locked in a duel to the death with a great power, lad. A force that would lay waste to these entire lands to get to us.’

‘The Malazans.’

‘You've the right of it. Good to see that you've been paying attention. Now, power is power. We knew this warlock, Shen, was no way potent enough to whip up this sort of storm. Why, the entire weather of this subcontinent is affected. Your own plains are dry because of all the rains that are drawn here to run off to the eastern coast. We'd hoped it was something we could use in our war against the damned Malazans. But, as you saw, it was some blasted dreaming magus.’

‘Dreaming?’

‘Yes. Cowl says that all this – the storm – was summoned up and sustained just by his dreaming. Imagine that, hey?’

Kyle almost threw himself upon Stoop.
You fools! You've slain a God of my people!
But blinding pain hammered within his skull and he rubbed furiously with his one good hand at his forehead.

‘You OK, lad?’

Kyle jerked a nod. ‘Could use some fresh air.’

Stoop took his arm to help him up the corridor. Outside, beyond the colonnaded walk, Guardsmen were lounging on the benches and planters, talking, resting and oiling weapons and armour. Stoop sat Kyle on the top ledge of a broad set of stairs that led down to a sunken patio, now a fetid pool of rotting leaves and branches. Clouds still enshrouded the Spur's top and would remain for some time yet, Kyle imagined. But the edge was off the storm. Thunder no longer burst overhead or rumbled out over the plains spread out
below. High sheet lightning flickered and raced far above, leaping and flashing soundlessly.

It could not be. How could it? It was impossible. Nothing after this, he decided, could ever touch him again. Yet
something
had happened. He studied his wrapped hand. It was numb of any feeling but for a constant nagging ache. They must've put some kind of salve on it. His tulwar, he noted, had been sheathed by some considerate soul. Odd-handed, he drew it. The leather of the grip came away like dry bark in his hand. He brushed away the burnt material leaving the scorch-marked tang naked. The blade, however, remained clean and unmarred. The swirls and curls of Wind seemed to dance down its gleaming length. Turning it over, Kyle paused: the design now ran down both sides of the curved blade. He didn't remember Smoky engraving both sides.