The Complete Malazan Book of the Fallen (210 page)

‘I don’t care.’

‘Nor does it,’ she retorted. ‘You don’t have any choice—’

He rounded on her. ‘Nothing new in that! Now ask Oponn how well I performed!’ His laugh was savage. ‘I doubt the Twins will ever recover. The wrong choice, Tattersail, I am
ever the wrong choice!
’

She stared up at him, then, infuriatingly, simply shrugged.

Suddenly deflated, Paran turned away. His gaze fell on the Mhybe, Whiskeyjack, Mallet and Quick Ben. The four had not moved in all this time. Their patience –
dammit, their faith
– made the captain want to scream.
You choose wrongly. Every damned one of you.
But he knew they would not listen. ‘I know nothing of the Deck of Dragons,’ he said dully.

‘If we’ve the time, I will teach you. If not, you will find your own way.’

Paran closed his eyes. The pain in his stomach was returning, rising, a slowly building wave he could no longer push back.
Yes, of course. Tattersail could do no less than she has done. There you have it then, Whiskeyjack. She now leads, and the others follow. A good soldier, is Captain Ganoes Paran …

In his mind he returned to that fraught, nightmarish realm within the sword Dragnipur, the legions of chained souls ceaselessly dragging their impossible burden … and at the heart of the wagon, a cold, dark void, from whence came the chains.
The wagon carries the gate, the gate into Kurald Galain, the warren of Darkness. The sword gathers souls to seal it … such a wound it must be, to demand so many souls …
He grunted at a wave of pain. Silverfox’s small hand reached up to touch his arm.

He almost flinched at the contact.

I will fail you all.

Chapter Five

He rises bloodless from dust, with dead eyes that are pits twin reaches to eternal pain.

He is the lodestone to the gathering clan, made anew and dream-racked.

The standard a rotted hide, the throne a bone cage, the king a ghost from dark fields of battle.

And now the horn moans on this grey-clad dawn drawing the disparate host

To war, to war, and the charging frenzy of unbidden memories of ice.

L
AY OF THE
F
IRST
S
WORD

I
RIG
T
HANN
D
ELUSA
(
B.
1091)

Two days and seven leagues of black, clinging clouds of ash, and Lady Envy’s telaba showed not a single stain. Grumbling, Toc the Younger pulled the caked cloth from his face and slowly lowered his heavy leather pack to the ground. He never thought he’d bless the sight of a sweeping, featureless grassy plain, but, after the volcanic ash, the undulating vista stretching northward beckoned like paradise.

‘Will this hill suffice for a camp?’ Lady Envy asked, striding over to stand close to him. ‘It seems frightfully exposed. What if there are marauders on this plain?’

‘Granted, marauders aren’t usually clever,’ Toc replied, ‘but even the stupidest bandit would hesitate before trying three Seguleh. The wind you’re feeling up here will keep the biting insects away come night, Lady. I wouldn’t recommend low ground – on any prairie.’

‘I bow to your wisdom, Scout.’

He coughed, straightening to scan the area. ‘Can’t see your four-legged friends anywhere.’

‘Nor your bony companion.’ She turned wide eyes on him. ‘Do you believe they have stumbled into mischief?’

He studied her, bemused, and said nothing.

She raised an eyebrow, then smiled.

Toc swiftly turned his attention back to his pack. ‘I’d best pitch the tents,’ he muttered.

‘As I assured you last night, Toc, my servants are quite capable of managing such mundane activities. I’d much rather you assumed for yourself a higher rank than mere menial labourer for the duration of this great adventure.’

He paused. ‘You wish me to strike heroic poses against the sunset, Lady Envy?’

‘Indeed!’

‘I wasn’t aware I existed for your entertainment.’

‘Oh, now you’re cross again.’ She stepped closer, rested a sparrow-light hand on his shoulder. ‘Please don’t be angry with me. I can hardly hold interesting conversations with my servants, can I? Nor is your friend Tool a social blossom flushed with enlivening vigour. And while my two pups are near-perfect companions in always listening and never interrupting, one yearns for the spice of witty exchanges. You and I, Toc, we have only each other for this journey, so let us fashion the bonds of friendship.’

Staring down at the bundled tents, Toc the Younger was silent for a long moment, then he sighed. ‘I’m a poor excuse for witty exchanges, Lady, alas. I am a soldier and scant else.’
More, I’ve a soldier’s scars – who can naught but flinch upon seeing me?

‘Not modesty, but deception, Toc.’

He winced at the edge to her tone.

‘You have been educated, far beyond what is common for a professional soldier. And I have heard enough of your sharp exchanges with the T’lan Imass to value your wit. What is this sudden shyness? Why the growing discomfort?’

Her hand had not moved from his shoulder. ‘You are a sorceress, Lady Envy. And sorcery makes me nervous.’

The hand withdrew. ‘I see. Or, rather, I do not. Your T’lan Imass was forged by a ritual of such power as this world has not seen in a long time, Toc the Younger. His stone sword alone is invested to an appalling degree – it cannot be broken, not even chipped, and it will cut through wards effortlessly. No warren can defend against it. I would not wager on any blade against it when in Tool’s hands. And the creature himself. He is a champion of sorts, isn’t he? Among the T’lan Imass, Tool is something unique. You have no idea of the power – the
strength
– he possesses. Does Tool make you nervous, soldier? I’ve seen no sign of that.’

‘Well,’ Toc snapped, ‘he’s shrunken hide and bones, isn’t he? Tool doesn’t brush against me at every chance. He doesn’t throw smiles at me like lances into my heart, does he? He doesn’t mock that I once had a face that didn’t make people turn away, does he?’

Her eyes were wide. ‘I do not mock your scars,’ she said quietly.

He glared over to the three motionless, masked Seguleh.
Oh, Hood, I’ve made a mess of things here, haven’t I? Are you laughing behind those face-shields, warriors?
‘My apologies, Lady,’ he managed. ‘I regret my words—’

‘Yet hold to them none the less. Very well, it seems I must accept the challenge, then.’

He looked up at her. ‘Challenge?’

She smiled. ‘Indeed. Clearly, you think my affection for you is not genuine. I must endeavour to prove otherwise.’

‘Lady—’

‘And in your efforts to push me away, you’ll soon discover that I am not easily pushed.’

‘To what end, Lady Envy?’
All my defences broken down … for your amusement?

Her eyes flashed and Toc knew, with certainty, the truth of his thoughts. Pain stole through him like cold iron. He began unfolding the first tent.

Garath and Baaljagg arrived, bounding up to circle around Lady Envy. A moment later a swirl of dust rose from the ochre grasses a few paces from where Toc crouched. Tool appeared, carrying across his shoulders the carcass of a pronghorn antelope, which he shrugged off to thump on the ground.

Toc saw no wounds on the animal.
Probably scared it to death.

‘Oh, wonderful!’ Lady Envy cried. ‘We shall dine like nobles tonight!’ She swung to her servants. ‘Come, Senu, you have some butchering to do.’

Won’t be the first time, either.

‘And you other two, uhm, what shall we devise for you? Idle hands just won’t do. Mok, you shall assemble the hide bath-tub. Set it on that hill over there. You needn’t worry about water or perfumed oils – I shall take care of all that. Thurule, unpack my combs and robe, there’s a good lad.’

Toc glanced over to see Tool facing him. The scout grimaced wryly.

The T’lan Imass strode over. ‘We can begin our arrow-making efforts, soldier.’

‘Aye, once I’m done with the tents.’

‘Very well. I shall assemble the raw material we have collected. We must fashion a tool kit.’

Toc had put up enough tents in his soldiering days to allow him to maintain fair attention on Tool’s preparations while he worked. The T’lan Imass knelt beside the antelope and, with no apparent effort, broke off both antlers down near the base. He then moved to one side and unslung the hide bag he carried, loosening the drawstring so that it unfolded onto the ground, revealing a half-dozen large obsidian cobbles collected on their passage across the old lava flow, and an assortment of different kinds of stones, which had come from the shoreline beyond the Jaghut tower, along with bone-reeds and a brace of dead seagulls, both of which were still strapped to Toc’s pack.

It was always a wonder – and something of a shock – to watch the deftness of the undead warrior’s withered, almost fleshless hands, as he worked.
An artist’s hands.
Selecting one of the obsidian cobbles, the T’lan Imass picked up one of the larger beach stones and with three swift blows detached three long, thin blades of the volcanic glass. A few more concussive strikes created a series of flakes that varied in size and thickness.

Tool set down the hammerstone and the obsidian core. Sorting through the flakes, he chose one, gripping it in his left hand, then, with his right, he reached for one of the antlers. Using the tip of the foremost tine of the antler, the T’lan Imass began punching minute flakes from the edge of the larger flake.

Beside Toc the Younger, Lady Envy sighed. ‘Such extraordinary skill. Do you think, in the time before we began to work metal, we all possessed such abilities?’

The scout shrugged. ‘Seems likely. According to some Malazan scholars, the discovery of iron occurred only half a thousand years ago – for the peoples of the Quon Tali continent, in any case. Before that, everyone used bronze. And before bronze we used unalloyed copper and tin. Before those, why not stone?’

‘Ah, I knew you had been educated, Toc the Younger. Human scholars, alas, tend to think solely in terms of human accomplishments. Among the Elder Races, the forging of metals was quite sophisticated. Improvements on iron itself were known. My father’s sword, for example.’

He grunted. ‘Sorcery. Investment. It replaces technological advancement – it’s often a means of supplanting the progress of mundane knowledge.’

‘Why, soldier, you certainly do have particular views when it comes to sorcery. However, did I detect something of rote in your words? Which bitter scholar – some failed sorceror no doubt – has espoused such views?’

Despite himself, Toc grinned. ‘Aye, fair enough. Not a scholar, in fact, but a High Priest.’

‘Ah, well, cults see
any
advancement – sorcerous or, indeed, mundane – as potential threats. You must dismantle your sources, Toc the Younger, lest you do nothing but ape the prejudices of others.’

‘You sound just like my father.’

‘You should have heeded his wisdom.’

I should have. But I never did. Leave the Empire, he said. Find someplace beyond the reach of the court, beyond the commanders and the Claw. Keep your head low, son …

Finished with the last of the three tents, Toc made his way to Tool’s side. Seventy paces away, on the summit of a nearby hill, Mok had assembled the wood-framed hide-lined bath-tub. Lady Envy, Thurule marching at her side with folded robe and bath-kit in his arms, made her way towards it. The wolf and dog sat close to Senu where he worked on the antelope. The Seguleh flung spare bits of meat to the animals every now and then.

Tool had completed four small stone tools – a backed blade; some kind of scraper, thumbnail-sized; a crescent-bladed piece with its inside edge finely worked; and a drill or punch. He now turned to the original three large flakes of obsidian.

Crouching down beside the T’lan Imass, Toc examined the finished items. ‘All right,’ he said after a few moments’ examination, ‘I’m starting to understand this. These ones are for working the shaft and the fletching, yes?’

Tool nodded. ‘The antelope will provide us with the raw material. We need gut string for binding. Hide for the quiver and its straps.’

‘What about this crescent-shaped one?’

The bone-reed shafts must be trued.’

‘Ah, yes, I see. Won’t we need some kind of glue or pitch?’

‘Ideally, yes. Since this is a treeless plain, however, we shall make do with what we possess. The fletching will be tied on with gut’

‘You make the fashioning of arrowheads look easy, Tool, but something tells me it isn’t.’

‘Some stone is sand, some is water. Edged tools can be made of the stone that is water. Crushing tools are made of the stone that is sand, but only the hardest of those.’

‘And here I’ve gone through life thinking stone is stone.’

‘In our language, we possess many names for stone. Names that tell of its nature, names that describe its function, names for what has happened to it and what will happen to it names for the spirit residing within it, names—’

‘All right all right! I see your point. Why don’t we talk about something else?’

‘Such as?’

Toc glanced over at the other hill. Only Lady Envy’s head and knees were visible above the tub’s framework. The sunset blazed behind her. The two Seguleh, Mok and Thurule, stood guard over her, facing outward. ‘Her.’

‘Of Lady Envy, I know little more than what I have already said.’

‘She was a … companion of Anomander Rake’s?’

Tool resumed removing thin, translucent flakes of obsidian from what was quickly assuming the shape of a lanceolate arrowhead. ‘At first, there were three others, who wandered together, for a time. Anomander Rake, Caladan Brood, and a sorceress who eventually ascended to become the Queen of Dreams. Following that event, dramas ensued – or so it is told. The Son of Darkness was joined by Lady Envy, and the Soletaken known as Osric. Another three who wandered together. Caladan Brood chose a solitary path at the time, and was not seen on this world for score centuries. When he finally returned – perhaps a thousand years ago – he carried the hammer he still carries: a weapon of the Sleeping Goddess.’