Stonewielder (72 page)

‘This is your last warning,’ the Stormguard said quietly.

Shell muttered a response.
Shit! I’m going to be chained to this fool? I’d be better off on my own
. She leaned forward, trying to pull more warmth from the brazier. Well … it may just come to that …

The wait lengthened. Everyone sat in an agony of tense anticipation. After what seemed half the night one of the Stormguard squinted up the narrow chute of stairs and then back at them. ‘Sleep,’ he said.

Shell did not sleep. She sat back, eyes slitted, while the man next to her nodded off – though perhaps he simply passed out in an utter exhaustion of dread. At intervals, one Stormguard paced the chamber. She watched him when he passed. Who were these soldiers? Their manner struck her as one of a military order, one dedicated to their Blessed Lady. She’d heard of them all her life, of course; they were always cited in admiration. And she could admit to having once shared that awe for what seemed – from far away – an honourable calling. Once.

Now, they’d rather fallen in her regard.

Eventually, inevitably, their turn came. The Stormguard struck them from the chain and pushed them up the narrow stone stairway. Her partner went first, and when he reached the top someone passed him a spear, which he flinched from before shakily taking.

Fanderay help us
. The shield was thrust at her. It was a broad curved rectangle of layered wood, bone and bronze. The narrow chute of the stairway opened on to a small frigid room with one door; that door was lined in rime, its threshold wet with melted ice and slush. She knew where that door led.

While she fought with the shield’s old strapping the entire structure around and beneath her shuddered, jerking, and a great booming burst through the room like a thunderclap. She rocked, taking a step. Ice fell like glass shards from the walls. The regular guards holding cocked crossbows on her and her partner grinned at them over the stocks of their weapons.

The outer door slammed open and in came a Stormguard. Sleet and wind-tossed salt spume coated his cloak. His longsword was drawn and he gestured to them with it. Her partner, to whom she was linked by a few arms’ length of chain, gaped at the Chosen,
frozen in terror, or disbelief. His eyes blazing within his narrow vision slit, the Stormguard snatched the spear close to its wide leaf-shaped blade and yanked the man forward.

In this undignified manner they stumbled out on to the marshalling walk of the Stormwall. A brutal wind cut at Shell while sleet slashed almost level. The coming dawn brightened the east behind massed heavy clouds. The Stormguard urged them along, now tugging on the chain linking them. As he force-marched them he was yelling: ‘You will face the enemy. You will fight! If you flinch or cringe I will kill you myself! And believe me … you have a better chance against them than against me!’

He led them up stairs that were no more than flows of ice cascading down from a higher wall, a machicolation perhaps. Here the cut stones sloped downward, no doubt to cast the wash of the crashing waves back over the face of the wall.

Shell reached the top and had her breath stolen from her. The sea raged beneath a horizon-wide ceiling of black cloud. White caps tossed up scarves of spume while overhead curtains of blue-green bands shimmered and danced.

The Stormguard was hammering their chain to a pin close to the lip of the wall. Shell’s partner stared at her, horror and despair in his eyes. Past him, through a gap in the blowing snow, she caught two figures crouched in the middle distance.

Straightening, the Stormguard faced them. ‘Fight, and there’s a good chance you’ll live. Refuse to fight and I’ll slit you like a dog. Remember that.’ And he jogged away down the stairs.

The man with her threw down his spear.

‘What are you
doing?
’

‘Give me the shield!’ he demanded, shivering as if palsied.

‘What?’

‘Give me the shield!’

She considered breaking his neck right then and there, but couldn’t bring herself to do it. She thrust the shield at him and retrieved the spear. ‘You cover me with that blasted thing,’ she told him, but he didn’t seem to be listening.

They didn’t have long to wait. From the east came a distant rumbling as of a roll of thunder.
A wave’s coming. The Riders come with the crest, probing for weaknesses
. She readied the spear, opted for a broad stance, the haft extended out as far ahead as possible.
Best then not appear weak
.

The sea appeared to swell as a great rolling comber heaved itself
shoreward. It came at an angle, striking to the east first, rumbling down the wall like an avalanche. Phosphorescent light gleamed within, shimmering and winking. The Riders.

As the wave drew abreast it crested the wall to send a wash over her numb feet and legs up to her knees. Some
thing
flowed past, a shape, gleaming in oily rainbow shades of mother-of-pearl. Her partner recoiled, bumping her – for a moment she was afraid he was going to try to clutch her.

‘You saw it!’ he stammered. ‘They are daemons!’ He threw down the shield to claw at the ring and pin imprisoning them.

‘Pick up the shield,’ she told him, fighting to keep her voice calm. A secondary swell grew following the main crest. ‘Hurry.’

He yanked, sobbing. Blood from his frozen, torn fingers smeared the naked iron.

‘Pick it up.’

The swell rolled abreast of them. The man reached out to her. ‘Use the spear! Lever—’

A slim jagged weapon thrust from the face of the water to burst through the man’s chest. It withdrew before Shell could respond. Something reared, lunging, a humanoid figure, armoured, helmed. Steam plumed from it as it thrust at her. Despite her shock Shell parried, then the Rider’s own momentum carried it off and away with the receding wave.

Shell was left alone, chained to a corpse in the blowing snow. To the west she watched another pair engage the wave as it passed their station, then all was quiet as the sea withdrew. It seemed to be readying itself as lesser waves hammered and clashed. She shivered; her feet were now far beyond any feeling whatsoever. She wondered whether she could walk even if she had the chance.

It seemed she would have to wait. She considered the body hardening at her feet, the chain linked to its ankle fetter, the razor edge of the spear. A lever, he had suggested … but no. He wasn’t impeding her. Not yet.

No relief came. Shell knelt down on her haunches, blew on her fingers while hugging her frigid legs to her.
Damn the shield; she’d use the spear two-handed
.

The temptation to reach out to her Warren was almost irresistible. Just the quickest summoning of power and she would be free – but then where would she go? And the Lady would sear her mind more surely than these Riders might skewer her. She might be a mage foremost … but she was also an Avowed of
the Crimson Guard, and she would show these Riders what that meant.

The huge cut stones of the wall shuddering beneath her feet announced the arrival of another wave. She watched its ice-skeined bulge as it came rolling in from the north-east. Flashes of lightning accompanied it, and greenish light danced above. Like mast-fire it was … the brilliance that sometimes possessed a vessel.

Shell readied herself, searched for purchase over the treacherous ice-sheathed stone. Her hands, she noticed, alarmed, were now frozen to the spear’s haft. The wave rolled along the fortifications, cresting over the top as it came. When it swelled abreast of her a figure seemed to lift itself from the water, carrying lance and shield. It reared, heaved the lance at her. She parried. As it went for the sword sheathed at its side she thrust with her spear, taking him, or it, on the shield. In a practised move the Rider took hold of her spear haft then threw itself backwards into the water, taking the weapon with it. Her hands flamed as skin was torn in strips.

She cursed in a blind white fury worse than any she had known before.
Damn these scum! I will not die here! The vow I swore was against the Malazans!
A second Rider reared before her on whatever it was they rode – water animate as half wave, half beast-like mount. Weaponless, there was nothing for it but to hammer an arm across the front of the attacker, unhorsing him. As he fell she grabbed the pommel of his sheathed sword but the touch burned her hand as if she’d sunk it into embers and she cried out, recoiling.

Thankfully, the wave subsided, rolling on. She sank to her knees, cradling her numb hand to her chest.
Damn them all! Stupid fucking waste!

Still no relief came. She knelt, panting; blood froze in a sheath on her hands. She felt so sluggish, utterly numb. Strangely, there was no pain. It was as if she were floating.
Maybe if I just lie down for a moment …

Rattling shook her to wakefulness. Someone was hammering at the ice-encrusted ring and pin imprisoning her. Her chains came free and he reached for her. Standing, she straight-armed the man from her. She swore at him but her lips were numb and she could only mumble. He seemed to study her for a time through the narrow vision slit of his helm, then he grasped the chains and dragged them, pulling her and the corpse off the wall.

They knocked the fetters from her in the tiny marshalling room, then she was prodded back down the stairs. A guard kept her
moving, a bared blade levelled against her. In the prison chamber she was reattached to the main gang-chain and she allowed herself to slide down the wall in what felt like the most luxurious warmth imaginable.

Almost immediately she fell asleep. Some time later she awoke to a touch on her foot. It was the prisoner who’d fed them earlier, Jemain. He knelt to rub a greasy unguent on her face, arms, legs and hands. ‘It will prevent infection and aid healing,’ he told her.

She saw his bare ankles. ‘You’re not chained,’ she noted belatedly.

‘I’m a trustee.’ Lowering his voice, he added, ‘That was quite a show you put on. Be careful or they will move you to a hot spot.’

She laughed, hurting her cracked lips. ‘That wasn’t hot?’

He smiled. ‘Oh no. First they put you on a slow station – see what you can do.’

A new Chosen entered the chamber, blue cloak wrapped tight about him. He spoke in low tones with the two Stormguard. Jemain lowered his head to mutter, ‘Too late.’

The two posted guards marched down the line to Shell. While one watched, hand on swordgrip, the other struck her from the chain. This one then freed the older Malazan soldier as well, and linked her and him together.

‘She needs time to heal,’ Jemain told them. ‘Her hands—’

The nearest Stormguard struck him a blow that sent him tumbling. Shell lashed out but the Chosen slipped the blow, drawing his weapon to strike her in the gut with the pommel. She grunted without falling and the man fell back one step, his eyes widening behind the narrow vision slit. The old Malazan veteran threw an arm across Shell to draw her back as well.

She knocked his arm aside. ‘Don’t you dare touch me, Malazan scum.’

The veteran let his arm fall to look her up and down, wonder on his face. ‘Togg take me …’ he breathed. The trustee, Jemain, also stared up at her – he looked about to say something. The Stormguard drew his blade, gestured to the exit.

Glaring her fury, Shell gave the faintest of nods. She edged her way through the narrow chamber. The eyes of all those chained along both walls watched her pass. As she came to Jemain he raised an arm and she helped him up. Hugging her close, he whispered, ‘Do you know Bars?’ Then he gasped as her grip tightened convulsively.

‘Where is he?’ she grated.

‘I know.’

‘Come to me.’

‘Get a move on,’ the Stormguard ordered.

Pulling away, he murmured, ‘I’ll try.’

She let him go, forcing her burning hands to open, then shuffled on. The Malazan veteran, she noted, also gave the trustee a long hard stare as he passed.

So this Jemain knew Bars. But then, here on the wall, who did not? Perhaps it was nothing. But the Malazan appeared close to guessing her identity as well. And she was now paired with him. Well, as before … she may be better off alone …

And All the Shores Between

He stands watching the Chosen on the wall
Gripping the stone in both hands
Staring down into the blur of sickle blades,
Clouds of spray and snow blow behind
And all to the horizon, to the curve
Of wall that marks the shore,
Nothing but men swinging.
When the sea fills the gap
His cousins raise their spears.
For twelve hours the sun strives
And the reaper reaps.
The boy stares down into that sweep
Of hot oiled blade and tempered ice,
And I hope he will not fall.

Epic lay,
The Wall
Derak Ranathaj

Looking back
is a flame in the eyes.
Best not to linger like flies
on the refuse we have made.

No, I know nothing of what came before.
Nor do I care.

It is much easier to worship the future
that will never come.

Occasional Rhymes
Jhen Karen’ul of Stygg

B
AKUNE SAT IN THE HIGH CHAIR OF THE BANITH COURTS CIVIL AND
listened to the advocate for the aggrieved finish his argument. It was all he could do to force himself to pay attention. Outside, an occupying army patrolled the streets and blockaded the harbour, while here within these walls advocates and agents connived and conspired with as much unashamed greed as before.