The Complete Malazan Book of the Fallen (1194 page)

Was he ready for this moment? He could not be sure – he had his own fears with which he had to contend, after all.
But then, how long must I wait? And what moment, among all the moments, can I judge safest? The breath before the war cry? Hardly.

I will do this now, and may all who witness understand – it has been a long time in coming, and the silence surrounding me was not my own – it was where she had driven me. Where she would force us all, against the cliff wall, into cracks in the stone.

Iron, what are your virtues? The honed edge kisses and sparks rain down. Blood rides the ferule and splashes on the white snow. This is how you mark every trail.
Tanakalian looked away. Seething motion, tents rising, tendrils of smoke curling up on the wind. ‘Without a Destriant,' he said, ‘we cannot know their fate.' He glanced back at her, eyes narrowing.

Mortal Sword Krughava stood watching seven brothers and sisters assembling her command tent. The skin of her thick forearms, where they were crossed over her breasts, had deepened to bronze, a hue that seemed as dusty as the patches of bared earth all around them. The sun had bleached the strands of hair that escaped her helm, and they drifted out like webs on the hot wind. If she bore wounds from the parley with the Adjunct, she would not show them. ‘Sir,' she said, ‘Commander Erekala is not one for indecision. This is precisely why I chose him to command the fleet. You invite uncertainty and think that this is the time for such things – when so much has been challenged.'

But, you damned fool, Run'Thurvian saw what was coming. We shall betray our vow. And I see no way out.
‘Mortal Sword,' he began, struggling to keep the anger from his voice, ‘we are sworn to the Wolves of Winter. In our iron we bare the fangs of war.'

She grunted. ‘And there shall indeed be war, Shield Anvil.'

When you stood before the Adjunct, when you avowed service to her and her alone, it was the glory of that moment that so seduced you, wasn't it? Madness!
‘We could not have anticipated what the Adjunct intended,' he said. ‘We could not have known she would so deceive us—'

She turned then. ‘Sir, must I censure you?'

Tanakalian's eyes widened. He straightened before her. ‘Mortal Sword, I am the Shield Anvil of the Perish Grey Helms—'

‘You are a fool, Tanakalian. You are, indeed, my greatest regret.'

This time, he vowed, he would not retreat before her disdain. He would not walk away, feeling diminished, battered. ‘And you, Mortal Sword, stand before me as the greatest threat the Grey Helms have ever known.'

The brothers and sisters at the tent had halted all activity. Others were joining them in witnessing this clash.
Look at you all! You knew it was coming!
Tanakalian's heart was thundering in his chest.

Krughava had gone white. ‘Explain that, Shield Anvil.' Her voice was harsh, grating. ‘On your life,
explain that
.'

Oh, how he had longed for this moment, how he had conjured this scene, where stood the Shield Anvil, face to face with Krughava. Witnessed and so remembered.
This precise scene.
And in his mind he had spoken all he would now say, his voice hard and bold, solid and unwavering before this wretched tyrant's ire. Tanakalian drew a slow breath, watched the Mortal Sword tremble with rage, and was not cowed. ‘Adjunct Tavore is one woman. A mortal woman – that and nothing more. It was not your place to avow service to her. We are Children of the Wolves, not that damned woman! And now see what has happened! She sets our course and it stabs at the very heart of our faith!'

‘The Fallen God—'

‘Hood
take
the Fallen God! “When the bhederin is wounded and weak, the wolves shall close in!” So it is written! In the name of our gods, Mortal Sword, he should
die
by our hand! But none of that matters – do you truly imagine Tavore gives a damn about our faith? Does she kneel before the Wolves? She does not.'

‘We march to the final war, sir, and such a war demands us. The Perish. The Grey Helms – without us, there can be no final war! And I will not abide—'

‘A final war? Don't be ridiculous. There's no such thing as a
final
war! When the last human falls, when the last god breathes his last breath, the vermin shall lock jaws over the carcasses. There is no end – not to anything, you mad, vain fool! This was all about you standing on a heap of corpses, your sword red as the sunset. This was all about Krughava and her insane visions of glory!' He gestured furiously at the soldiers gathered round them. ‘And if we must all die for your precious, shining moment, why, is it not the Shield Anvil who stands ready to embrace the souls?'

‘
That is your role!
'

‘To bless your wilful murder of our brothers and sisters? You want me to sanctify their sacrifice?'

Her left hand was on the grip of her sword, the blade was half drawn. She had gone from white to bright red.
The berserk rage is almost upon her. She is moments from killing me. By the Wolves, see what she is!
‘The Shield Anvil, sir, shall not question—'

‘I will bless us, Mortal Sword, in the name of a
just
cause. Make your cause just. I plead with you, before all these witnesses – before our brothers and sisters
– make this cause just!
'

The sword scraped. The iron sank down, vanished into the scabbard. The fires in her eyes suddenly ebbed. ‘So we are divided,' she said. ‘We are driven apart. The crisis I have feared is finally upon us. The Adjunct spoke of betrayal.' Her cold eyes scanned the crowd. ‘My children, what has befallen us?'

Captain Ikarl, one of the last veterans among them, spoke. ‘Mortal Sword. Two sides of an argument can make the complicated seem simple, when it is anything but simple. A third voice can offer reason, and indeed wisdom. We must acclaim a Destriant. To bridge this divide, to mend this wound.'

She cocked her head. ‘Sir, do you voice the doubt of many? Do my brothers and sisters question my leadership?'

He shook his head, but there was no telling what that negation referred to. ‘Mortal Sword, we are sworn to the Wolves of Winter – but without a Destriant we cannot reach them. We are severed from our gods and so we suffer. Krughava, daughter of Nakalat, do you not see how we suffer?'

Shaken, her eyes bleak, she regarded Tanakalian once more. ‘Shield Anvil, do you counsel betrayal of the Adjunct Tavore?'

And so it is laid bare. At last, it is laid bare.
He raised his voice, forcing himself to remain firm, calm, revealing no hint of triumph. ‘The Wolves howl in the name of war. Our worship was born in the snows of our homeland, in the winter's cruel, icy breath. We came to honour and respect the beasts of the wild, the wolves who shared the mountain fastnesses, the dark forests, with our kind. Even as, in our early days, we hunted those very beasts. We understood them, or so we liked to believe—'

‘These words are unnecessary—'

‘No, Mortal Sword. They are necessary. They are, in fact,
vital.
' He eyed the others – all had gathered now, a silent mass.
Five thousand. Brothers, sisters all. You hear me. You will hear me. You must hear me.
‘We find ourselves divided, but this crisis has waited for us, and we must face it. A crisis created by the Mortal Sword's vow to the Adjunct. We shall face it. Here. Now. Brothers, sisters, we have looked into the eyes of the beast – our chosen wildness – and in bold presumption, we proclaimed them our brothers, our sisters, our kin.'

Voices cried out – angry, harsh with denial. Tanakalian raised his hands, held them high until silence returned. ‘A presumption,' he repeated. ‘We cannot know the mind of a wolf, no more than we can know the mind of a dog, or a dhenrabi of the north seas. Yet we took upon ourselves the most ancient of gods – the Lord and Lady of the frozen winter, of all the beasts, of the world's wildness. We vowed ourselves to a House – a Hold –
where we do not belong—
'

The protests were louder this time, reluctant to die away. Tanakalian waited. ‘But
war
, ah, we knew that well. We understood it, in a manner no wolf of the forest could. Was this to be our cause, then? Were we to be the sword of the wilds, the defender of wolves and all the beasts of forest, sea, plain and mountain?' He faced Krughava. ‘Mortal Sword?'

‘The earliest sentiments whispered of such things,' she replied, ‘as we all know. And we have not gone astray, sir.
We have not
.'

‘We have, Mortal Sword, if we continue to follow the Adjunct, if we stand beside her in this war she seeks. At last, it is time for me to speak of Destriant Run'Thurvian's final warning, uttered to me moments before his death, hard words, accusing words, even as he denied my embrace.'

The shock was palpable, like thunder so distant it was not heard, but felt. A tremble in the very bones.
And all that comes, all that now rushes towards us…

Krughava's eyes were wide and he could see her confusion. ‘Tanakalian – he refused you?'

‘He did. He never approved of me – but you could hardly have been unaware of that. He must have worked on you, I think, day and night, undermining your decision to make me the Shield Anvil. And when he died, his fears and doubts took root in you.'

The look she was giving him was one he'd never seen before.

Ikarl asked, ‘Shield Anvil, tell us of the Destriant's warning.'

‘Betrayal. He said she would force us to betray our gods – I could not be certain of whom he spoke. The Adjunct?' He faced Krughava. ‘Or our very own Mortal Sword? It was difficult, you see, for his dislike of me proved an obstacle. That, and the fact that he was dying before my very eyes.'

‘You speak truth,' Krughava said, as if astonished.

‘Mortal Sword, do not think I do not love my brothers and sisters. Do not think I would stand here and lie. I am the Shield Anvil, and for all Run'Thurvian's doubts – for all
your
doubts, Krughava – I hold to my duty. We are divided, yes. But what divides us is so fundamental that to put it into words could strike one as absurd. Upon the side of the Adjunct, we are offered a place among mortals, among humans – flawed, weak, uncertain in their cause. Upon the other side, our covenant of faith. The Wolves of Winter, the Wolves of War. The Lord and the Lady of the Beast Hold. And in this faith we choose to stand alongside the beasts. We avow our swords in the name of their freedom, their right to live, to share this and every other world. The question – so absurd – is this: are we to be human, or are we to be humanity's slayers? And if the latter, then what will come of us should we win? Should we somehow lead a rebellion of the wilds, and so destroy every last human on this world? Must we then fall upon our own swords?'

He paused then, suddenly drained, and met Krughava's eyes. ‘Run'Thurvian was right. There will be betrayal. In fact, in choosing one side, we cannot but betray the other. Mortal Sword, you set your sword down before the Adjunct. But long before that moment you pledged that selfsame weapon in the name of our gods. No matter how strong the sword's forging,' he said, ‘no weapon can long withstand contrary pressures. It weakens. It shatters. No weapon has ever bridged a divide, and once drawn, a sword can only cut. For all the virtues of iron, Mortal Sword, we are flesh and blood. What awaits us, Krughava? Which path shall you lead us upon? Shall it be to your personal glory, there at the Adjunct's side? Or shall it be in the name of the gods we are sworn to serve?'

She reeled at his words, seemed unable to speak.

The virtue of iron, woman, is that when it strikes, it strikes true!
He faced the crowd. ‘Sisters! Brothers of the Grey Helms! There are many gods of war – we have crossed half this world and we cannot deny the thousand faces – the thousand masks worn by that grim bringer of strife. We have seen mortals kneel before idols and statues – before the likeness of a boar, a striped tiger, or two wolves. We have heard the cries upon the battlefield.' He paused and half smiled, as if remembering. ‘The field of battle, yes. By those beseeching cries alone, we might imagine that the greatest god of war is named
Mother.
' He held up his hands again to stay his listeners. ‘I meant no disrespect, dear kin. I speak only to find what sets us apart – from all those other blood-soaked cults. What do they seek, there in violent battle, those savage faiths? Why, they seek death – the death of their enemies – and if death must come to themselves, then they pray it is a brave one, a glorious one.'

He strode past Krughava, was pleased to see her step aside, and faced Ikarl and the others: scores of faces, eyes fixed upon him now, eyes that slipped over the Mortal Sword as if she had ceased to exist. He could not believe the suddenness, the sheer
immensity
of this usurpation.

She was fatally weakened. There in the Adjunct's command tent. She sought to show none of it, and hid it well indeed. Yet all I needed to do was prod, just once. And see what has happened.

Tavore, your denial broke Krughava, and Krughava was a woman for whom trust was everything. How could I have not heard the splintering of her spine? Right then and there? How could I not have understood the moment when she grasped the notion of strategy, of tactics, and made bold her renewed zeal? It was…desperate. No matter.
‘But we are not the same as the others. We are not simply one cult of war among many. It is not glory we seek – not in our name, at least. It is not even the death of our enemies that so gladdens us, filling our drunken nights with bravado. We are too sombre for such things. It is not in us to swagger and bluster.
War
, my brothers, my sisters, is the only weapon we have left.