The Complete Malazan Book of the Fallen (1209 page)

‘Because it is home to all which cannot be possessed, cannot be owned. And so too is the
throne
within the Hold empty, left eternally vacant. Because the very nature of rule is itself an illusion, a conceit and the product of a grand conspiracy. To have a ruler one must choose to be ruled over, and that forces notions of inequity to the fore, until they become, well, formalized. Made central to education, made essential as a binding force in society, until everything exists to prop up those in power. The Empty Throne reminds us of all that. Well, some of us, anyway.'

Precious Thimble frowned. ‘What did you mean when you said the Hold was
awake
once more?'

‘The Wastelands are so called because they are damaged—'

‘I know that – I can't do a damned thing here.'

‘Nor could I, until recently.' The Atri-Ceda plucked out a stick of rolled rustleaf and quickly lit it. Smoke thickened the air in the tent. ‘Imagine a house burning down,' she said, ‘leaving nothing but heaps of ash. That's what happened to magic in the Wastelands. Will it ever come back? Ever heal? Maybe that's what we're seeing here, but the power doesn't just show up. It grows, and I think now it has to start in a certain way. Beginning with…wandering. And then come the Holds, like plants taking root.' Aranict gestured. ‘Much wandering in these Wastelands of late, yes? Powerful forces, so much violence, so much
will.
'

‘And from Holds to warrens,' muttered Precious, nodding to herself.

‘Ah, the Malazans speak of this, too. These
warrens.
If they are destined to appear here, they have yet to do so, Precious Thimble. And is there not concern that they are ill?'

‘Malazans,' Precious hissed. ‘You'd think they
invented
warrens, the way they go on. Things got sickly for a time, sure, but then that went away.'

‘The Holds have always been the source of magical power on this continent,' Aranict said, shrugging. ‘In many ways, we Letherii are very conservative, but I am beginning to think there are other reasons for why there has been no change here. The K'Chain Che'Malle remain. And the Forkrul Assail dominate the lands to the east. Even the creatures known as the T'lan Imass are among us now, and without question the Hold of Ice is in the ascendant, meaning the Jaghut have returned.' She shook her head. ‘The Malazans speak of war among the gods. I fear that what is coming will prove more terrible than any of us can imagine.'

Precious licked her lips, glanced away. The tent seemed to have closed round her, like a death-shroud being drawn tight. She shivered. ‘We just want to go home.'

‘I do not know how I can help you,' Aranict said. ‘The Holds are not realms one willingly travels through. Even drawing upon their power invites chaos and madness. They are places of treachery, of deadly traps and pits leading down into unknown realms. Worse, the more powerful rituals demand blood.'

Precious gathered herself, met the Atri-Ceda's gaze. ‘In the east,' she said. ‘Something's there – I can feel it. A thing of vast power.'

‘Yes,' Aranict said, nodding.

‘It is where you are going, isn't it? This army and the war to come. You are going to fight for that power, to take it for yourself.'

‘Not quite, Precious Thimble. That power – we mean to set it free.'

‘And if you do? What happens then?'

‘We don't know.'

‘You keep speaking of the Malazans. Are they here? Are they one of the armies marching to this war?'

Aranict seemed about to say one thing, then changed her mind and said, ‘Yes.'

Precious sat back on her haunches. ‘I am from One-Eye Cat, a city of Genabackis. We were conquered by the Malazans. Winning is all that matters to them, Atri-Ceda. They will lie. They will backstab. Whatever you see on the surface, don't believe it. Don't. With them, nothing is as it seems, not ever.'

‘They are a complicated people—'

Precious snorted. ‘Their first emperor was where it all started. The sleight of hand, the deadly misdirection – everything the Malazan Empire became infamous for started with
him
. And though he's now dead and gone, nothing has changed. Tell your commander, Aranict. Tell him. The Malazans – they'll betray you.
They'll betray you.
'

 

Brys glanced up as she entered the tent. ‘You were able to speak to her?'

‘I was, after some curious work – it's as I said, the power of the Holds ever grows. I was never before able to manipulate the Empty Hold the way I did this night. In fact –' she settled down on the bed mat, started pulling off her boots – ‘I don't feel very good about what I had to do. By the time I was done not even her innermost thoughts were hidden from me. I feel…sullied.'

He moved closer, slipped an arm round her. ‘Was there no other way?'

‘I don't know. Maybe. But this was the quickest. She had some interesting opinions on the Malazans.'

‘Oh?'

‘Doesn't trust them. Her people didn't fare well during the Malazan conquest of Genabackis. Yet for all that resentment, a part of her recognizes that some good came of it in the end. The enforcement of laws and justice, and so on. Hasn't dulled her hatred, though.'

‘Trust,' Brys mused. ‘Always a difficult issue.'

‘Well,' Aranict said, ‘Tavore
is
hiding something.'

‘I believe what she is hiding is her awareness of just how wretched her chances are, Aranict.'

‘But that's just it,' Aranict said. ‘From what I gleaned from Precious Thimble, the Malazans
never
do something at which they're likely to fail. So if Tavore's chances look as bad as we all seem to think, what are we missing?'

‘Now that is an interesting question,' Brys admitted.

‘Anyway,' Aranict said, ‘they'll be coming with us to Kolanse.'

‘Very well. Can we trust them?'

Aranict settled back on the mat with a heavy sigh. ‘No.'

‘Ah. Will that prove a problem?'

‘I doubt it. If Precious Thimble attempts to draw upon a Hold, she'll get her head ripped off by all that raw power. Too young, and doesn't know what she's doing.'

‘Hmm. Could such a personal disaster put anyone else at risk?'

‘It could, Brys. Good thing you brought me along, isn't it?'

He lay down beside her. ‘Whatever happened to the shy, nervous woman I made my Atri-Ceda?'

‘You seduced her, you fool.'

 

‘Errant's push!' She sank down on to her knees, head hanging, her breath coming in gasps.

Spax drew up his leggings, stepped away from where she knelt close to the tent's back wall. ‘Best dessert there is,' he said. ‘Better run off now. I have to see your mother, and if she catches a glimpse of you anywhere near here, she'll know.'

‘What if she does?' Spultatha snapped. ‘It's not as if she's opened
her
legs to you, is it?'

He snorted. ‘Like a royal vault, she is.'

‘You're not good-looking enough. And you smell.'

‘I smell like a Gilk White Face Barghast, woman, and you've hardly complained.'

She rose, straightening her tunic. ‘I am now.'

‘Your mother is growing ever more protective of her daughters,' he said, scratching with both hands at his beard. ‘Spirits below, this dust gets everywhere.'

Spultatha slipped past him without another word. He watched her head off into the night, and then made his way round the royal train's equipment tent. Opposite waited the queen's tent, two guards stationed out front.

‘Is she ready for me?' Spax asked as he approached.

‘Too late for that,' one replied, and the other grunted a laugh. They stepped clear to allow him passage. He went inside, and then through to the inner chamber.

‘Can she walk?'

‘Highness?'

Abrastal drank down the last of her wine, lifted up the goblet. ‘My third in a row. I'm not looking forward to this, and having to listen to one of my own daughters squeal like a myrid with a herder's hand up its arse has hardly improved my mood.'

‘She's untutored in the ways of real men,' Spax responded. ‘Where do you want me for this?'

Abrastal gestured to one side of the tent. ‘There. Weapons drawn.'

The Warchief raised his brows, but said nothing as he walked over to where she had indicated.

‘This will be a kind of gate,' Abrastal said, folding her legs as she settled back in her chair. ‘Things could come through, and to make matters worse it'll be hard to make out what we're seeing – there will be a veil between us. If the situation sours, it can be torn, either by whatever is on the other side, or by you going through.'

‘Going through? Highness—'

‘Be quiet. You are in my employ and you will do what you're told.'

Swamp shit, we really did put her in a foul mood. Oh well.
He drew his long knives and crouched down. ‘If I'd known I would have brought my axes.'

‘What do your shamans tell you, Spax, about your Barghast gods?'

He blinked. ‘Why, nothing, Firehair. Why should they? I'm the Warchief. I deal in matters of war. All that other rubbish is for them to worry over.'

‘And are they?'

‘Are they what?'

‘Worried.'

‘They're warlocks, they're always worried.'

‘Spax.'

He grimaced. ‘The Barghast gods are idiots. Like sixteen children locked in a small room. For days. They'll start eating each other next.'

‘So there are sixteen of them?'

‘What? No. That was a just a number I threw out – spirits below, Firehair, you keep taking me literally – I'm Spax, remember? I make things up, to entertain myself. You want me to talk about my gods? Well, they're worse than me. They probably made
themselves
up.'

‘What do your shamans say?'

Spax scowled. ‘I don't care what they say!'

‘Is it that bad?'

He shrugged. ‘Could be our gods suddenly get smart. Could be they realize that their best chance of surviving what's to come is to keep their heads down. Could be they can cure the world's ills with one sweet kiss, too.' He held up his knives. ‘But I ain't holding my breath.'

‘Don't pray to them, Spax. Not tonight, not now. Do you understand me?'

‘I can't even remember the last time I prayed to them, Highness.'

Abrastal poured herself another goblet of wine. ‘Grab those furs over there. You'll need them.'

Furs?
‘Firehair, I—'

A stain darkened the space in the centre of chamber, and an instant later bitter cold air spilled out, frosting everything in sight. The Warchief's lungs burned with every breath. Pottery stacked against one wall cracked, then shattered, and what it contained fell out in frozen lumps.

Through pained eyes, Spax saw shapes take form within the gelid stain. In the forefront, facing Abrastal, was a short, curvaceous woman – young, he thought, though it was difficult to be sure.
Felash. Is that her? Yes, must be her, who else would it be?
Upon her left stood a taller woman, though the only detail he could make out was what appeared to be a glittering diamond set in her brow, from which extraordinary colours now flowed.

Then a shape coalesced to the Fourteenth Daughter's right. Unnaturally tall, dressed in black, the hint of chain armour beneath the slashed cloak. A hood was drawn back, revealing a gaunt, demonic face. Stained tusks rose from the lower jaw, thrusting outward like curved knives. The pits of its eyes were dark.
A damned Jaghut. Leaving me to wonder just how many more of my childhood terrors are real?

The Jaghut seemed to study Abrastal for a time, and then the head turned and Spax found himself staring into those lifeless pits. Withered lips peeled back, and the apparition spoke.
‘Barghast.'
Voiced as if it was an insult.

Spax growled a low curse. Said, ‘I am Gilk. We have many enemies, all of whom fear us. You are welcome to be one of them, Jaghut.'

‘Mother,' said the daughter. ‘I see you are well.'

Abrastal tipped her goblet. A solid lump of wine fell out. ‘Is this really necessary? I think I am frozen to my chair.'

‘Omtose Phellack, Mother – the Hold's ancient king has returned. He stands beside me.'

‘He's dead.'

The Jaghut faced the queen again. ‘I have heard better insults from my pets, mortal.' He then pointed at Spax. ‘Speaking of pets, what do you intend to do with yours?'

‘A precaution,' Abrastal said, shrugging.

The other woman, the one Spax did not know, then spoke. ‘Highness, only a few days ago this Jaghut here bit off the face of a Forkrul Assail.' She edged a step back to take in the Barghast. ‘Do not clash those blades, warrior – they will shatter.'

Felash said, ‘Mother, we have found a new ally in our…endeavours. The king of the Hold of Ice now stands with us.'

‘Why?'

The other woman said, ‘I don't think they like the Forkrul Assail, Highness.'

‘You must be Captain Shurq Elalle,' the queen said. ‘I have heard interesting things about you, but that will have to wait until another time. Fourteenth Daughter, are you once again upon the seas?'

‘We are. On a Ship of the Dead. You think
you're
cold?' One hand fluttered. ‘We're less than two weeks from the Teeth.'

‘What of the Perish fleet?'

Felash shook her head. ‘No sign. We must assume they have arrived – whether a blockade now exists…' she shrugged. ‘Mother, be careful. The Forkrul Assail know we are coming – all of us.
They know.
'

‘Can we maintain this line of communication?'