Stonewielder (29 page)

‘Who opposes?’ Sister Esa hissed.

The man reached down to gingerly pluck one tile from the sprawl. He held it up to the light of the remnant embers and examined it, puzzled. ‘Where is this one from?’ he asked Sister Nebras.

She set it in her palm. Everyone crowded close. ‘It’s the oldest of all my dearies,’ Sister Nebras said, breathless. Her brows rose in wonder. ‘And yet my most recently gained.’

‘Bloodwood,’ Carfin observed.

‘Inscribed with a House,’ said Totsin.

‘The House of Death,’ Sister Nebras said, hushed.

‘It’s from Jakatakan,’ said Jool, certain.

Sister Esa let out a small yelp. ‘Jakatakan! Then … it’s
them
.’

Sister Gosh straightened, nodding. She took a fortifying nip from her flask and sucked her teeth. All waited, tense, while she gathered herself. ‘Jakatakan. Ancient isle. The mythical island beyond the Riders.’ She addressed the others. ‘But not so mythical, yes?’

‘Until
they
came,’ breathed Sister Esa.

‘And what name did they come bearing?’ Sister Gosh demanded.

‘The name of the Island of the House of Death,’ said Totsin.

‘
Malaz
,’ said Carfin, facing outward to the night.

‘They are coming,’ affirmed Sister Gosh. ‘All contend now. The Lady. The Stormriders. The Invaders. And whosoever shall prevail this season, this land shall see their grip so tightened, their power so increased, that never shall we escape.’

Totsin pulled at his beard. ‘Yet what of
their
domination? Foreigners …’

‘We are all foreigners here,’ Sister Nebras sneered.

Jool drew a surprised breath. ‘Bloodwood …’

‘Of course!’ Sister Esa answered. ‘The Elders. The First. They never capitulated.’

‘
Blood
,’ Carfin droned into the night, morose. ‘I like it not.’

Sister Nebras crouched to gather up the tiles. ‘So the time for flight and hiding is past. We must join our hands on to this casting.
Aya!
’

Jool knelt. ‘What is it?’

The old woman held up a gnarled hand, joints swollen and crooked. ‘Did you not see this one?’ Cradled in her palm was a tile that glimmered mother-of-pearl, carved from shell. On it was inscribed a stylized warrior armed with a long spear.

Jool examined it yet dared not reach out. ‘The tile of the Riders hidden there, deep within the heart of the fire.’

‘And yet even now deathly cold to my touch.’

The two locked gazes, saying no more. Sister Nebras drew an awed breath. ‘The Riders. The Lady and the Invaders shall bleed each other dry and
they
will finally prevail.’

‘The casting is … suggestive,’ Jool allowed.

‘Perhaps we should reconsider—’ Totsin began.

‘No,’ Sister Nebras said. ‘I’ve had my fill of her
protection
.’

‘Enough talk,’ Sister Esa agreed, adding, ‘she is always listening.’ With that the six separated, five walking off separately in different directions. The one remaining stared silently off into the night for a time. He kicked through the sands of the reading then drew himself up stiffly. All alone, he adjusted his tattered cuffs and smoothed his goatee. ‘Very good,’ he announced. ‘Very good. We are decided then. By my authority as senior member this assembly is adjourned.’

*    *    *

‘Biggest damned dogs I have ever seen …’ breathed Jheval, clearing his throat and spitting.

He and Kiska were hunched down in a narrow crevasse that split a rock face. Though the two Hounds of Shadow had withdrawn, Kiska glimpsed the occasional blur of dun brown and shaggy tan.
Ye gods, what monsters these guardians of the Shadow Realm!
Even more terrifying now than when she’d seen them in her youth. She still heard the occasional skitter of kicked stones, and sometimes she could feel the growls of the great beasts vibrating the stone against her back. Even when the silence lengthened she was not fooled. She knew they were still out there, waiting.
Canny beasts
. Sucking in great breaths, she lowered her head between her knees to fight the gathering darkness of utter exhaustion. She held her side. That had been close. So close, she had the impression that the hounds had been playing with them, allowing them the illusion of escape. It was only chance they’d come across this tiny retreat.
But they hadn’t really escaped at all, had they? Only delayed the inevitable
.

At least she was with someone who could keep his head. Even while she watched, Jheval took one sip from his water skin, just enough to wet his mouth. He knew how to survive in a desert – even if this really wasn’t a desert. A different kind of one, she supposed. A desert of eternity.

‘How long do we have?’ he asked, undoing his headscarf.

‘You mean – how long can we last?’

He used the scarf to rub his short sweat-soaked hair. ‘Yes, I suppose.’

‘Good question … This is Shadow. From what I’ve overheard it may be that in principle we have for ever. We will be slow to hunger
and thirst. Eventually, I suppose one of us will be driven mad by our position and the other will be forced to kill that one …’

‘Or vice versa.’

She blinked at the man, then nodded her appreciation of the point. ‘Exactly so – by that time, who could say?’

He leaned his head back, staring up at the vault of the narrowing roof. ‘So, a waiting game.’ He offered her a sideways grin. ‘Luckily, I’m especially good at those.’ He edged himself down into a more comfortable position, giving every impression of a man completely at ease. ‘I have all the time in the world. What of you?’

Kiska considered the question. Could she definitively argue that time was of the essence? No one could know. Yet prudence would dictate that she not delay. ‘Unfortunately, I cannot say the same.’

A shrug. ‘Well then. Let us hope conditions change. As for myself – I care not.’

‘Truly? You really couldn’t care either way?’

‘No.’ He was tossing small stones out on to the cracked dirt before the opening. Kiska’s first reaction was irritation, but now she saw the reasoning behind the seemingly insignificant tic, and smiled.
Teasing. The man was actually teasing them
. And perhaps, eventually, they would tire of investigating these constant false alarms, and would come to ignore them.
Then …

‘When I …
left…
Seven Cities,’ he began, musing, ‘I was with a woman. We had much in common. I thought that I’d finally met a woman I could come to think of as a partner.’ He let out a long breath, a wistful sigh. ‘But … she too couldn’t believe that the future held no fascination for me. It interested her, though. Greatly.
She
had ambitions. I, apparently, did
not
. And so we parted ways, and there was much shouting and many broken pots. An ugly domestic scene – the sort I swore never to find myself involved in.’ He looked over, his dark eyes narrow in what she imagined must be a habitual squint. ‘What of you?’

Kiska stretched her arms up over her head. She leaned her head back to stare at the dark crack above. ‘You asked of the Claw. Well … have you ever joined something because you thought it was a shining perfect example of what could be right in the world? Only, in time, to discover that it was just as corrupt and petty and, frankly, as stupid as everywhere else?’ She glanced over to catch him eyeing her with a strange intensity. He lowered his gaze. ‘So it was with the Claw. I was very young when I joined. I’d grown up sheltered – and a touch spoiled. Like anyone, I suppose.’

She shifted to find a more comfortable seat on the rock, began kneading her side. ‘I knew nothing. But then, that is the definition of being young, yes? So how can you possibly fault anyone for it? In any case, I began to see and hear around me how promotions went to those from certain families, or to those who knew certain people in the organization. The success and advance of incompetents is a universal mystery, yes? Some would say it is because those above prefer subordinates who do not threaten them. I do not agree. I would say such reasoning only reveals that person’s
own
preferences. Myself, I would want only the most skilled and accomplished around me – how else might one be more assured of success?’

‘Not everyone feels that way,’ Jheval muttered darkly, his gaze inward.

‘No,’ Kiska agreed. ‘So I found it to be in the Claw. I came to see that many were only concerned with their own advancement and avoiding responsibility for mistakes, and I saw how this directly threatened the lives of those below and around them. Including myself. And so I walked away rather than be a casualty of someone’s self-seeking.’

She glanced over and was startled to see the man studying her once more. He became aware of her regard and quickly looked away.

‘We haven’t heard anything for a time, have we?’ he asked. ‘Perhaps they’ve given up.’ And he smiled, knowing full well the answer.

‘And what of you?’ Kiska asked.

Jheval kept his gaze lowered, his eyes averted. After a long pause he murmured, ‘Another time, perhaps.’ A rather awkward silence followed that, into which Jheval clapped his hands and rose to his feet, bent over. ‘Right. Let’s have a look then.’

‘Don’t be a fool.’

He gave her a mad grin. ‘Have to test the waters occasionally, don’t we?’

‘Don’t—’

But he’d jumped out, rolling, and stood, knees bent. ‘Hey, y’shaggy lapdogs! Where are you?’

The answer came with stunning swiftness. A great dun mountain of muscled hide and flashing teeth pounced exactly where Jheval stood – or would have been standing had he not launched himself backwards to land scrambling and kicking his way back into their narrow hole. Kiska helped yank him in while a great blow struck shards of rock from the fissure and the enraged snarling was an
avalanche. Jheval lay on top of her, gasping. He sent her a grin over his shoulder. ‘Your turn next time,’ he said, and rolled off.

Kiska just shook her head.
The lunatic! He was actually enjoying himself! Still, that grin – so damned boyish
.

*    *    *

Every jolt of the narrow launch sent lightning flashes of pain across Rillish’s sight. Wincing, he squeezed his brow while the eighteen-marine crew rowed him and Devaleth across the intervening sea to Admiral Nok’s flagship, the
Star of Unta
. He’d been drinking far too much Kartoolian spirit these last few days while trying to make sense out of this new posting.

Greymane, reinstated. Who would have thought it possible? He’d heard that the man’s own troops had tried to kill him; that Korelri assassins had cut his heart out; that he’d fled condemned by Malazan High Command. Now he was back after having served for a time in the ranks of the Empire’s most enduring enemy, the mercenary Crimson Guard. Mallick Rel obviously cared nothing for the man’s record under prior rulers – which dovetailed nicely with Rillish’s own evaluation of the Emperor: there was someone who cared nothing for old accepted ways, who would do whatever it took to win. Perhaps Mallick saw something of that quality in Greymane. Who knew? With the grim overcast dawn of this day he’d thrown the last empty bottle out of the window and come to the final conclusion that the best he could hope for was that the man would fail to remember him.

That would be the absolute best possibility. Otherwise … gods, how could he bear to face him?

Devaleth sat across the bows, utterly at ease in the pitching craft; she was, after all, a mage of Ruse, the Warren of Sea-magics. She sent him a narrowed glance, not supportive – nor, thank Burn, pitying – but watchful, coolly evaluating. She knew there was something between him and their High Fist, but either it was not her way to push herself forward, or she simply did not care the least. And, after all, she was in no hurry to meet the man herself, damned as a walking anathema in her own land.

In the end, it was that seeming indifference that brought Rillish to wave her to him. He rested a hand on the gunwale, steadying himself against the rough seas while the marines struggled to make headway. Devaleth merely crouched before him, somehow able to adjust to
each pitch and roll. Cold spray splashed his arm and the shock further cleared his head.

‘It was my second command,’ he said, holding his voice low. At least here, unlike on board any crowded troopship, he could be assured of the necessary secrecy. ‘I was part of a contingent of reinforcements. Mare war galleys caught us short of Fist. Hardly a fifth of us made it to shore.’ He shuddered at the memory: the icy waters; the cries of the drowning. His words did not do justice to the hopelessness of seeing one’s command shattered before one’s eyes. ‘We were folded into the Sixth. Soon after, as a noble, I was called in to bear witness to the judgement of Governor Hemel and the court martial against Greymane.’ He could not stop his throat from tightening at the memory. ‘I was new, a mere lieutenant. I knew procedures had been rushed. Testimony was thin, if not fabricated. But I also knew the campaign had fallen apart and that Command was looking for someone to hang it on. I chose not to interfere.’ He glanced up and found her eyes hard and dark and fully on him, studying him rather mercilessly, and he looked away. ‘So that is it. That one time I put my career first. And now, it would seem, I’m to pay for it.’

Her gaze slid aside, to where the tall masts of the
Star
could be glimpsed beyond the rise and fall of the steel-blue crests and troughs. The wind dashed her unkempt hair. ‘You were young and new to the situation – perhaps that’s precisely why you were chosen. In any case, we shall see what sort of man this Greymane is by how he acts. I will watch – but remember I can be of little use. I am, after all, a traitor.’