The Complete Malazan Book of the Fallen (314 page)

A change had come to her, he sensed. Some bleak resolve had hardened all that was within her. Perhaps it was the possible death of Anomander Rake that had forced such induration upon her spirit. Or, perhaps, it was their future paths they had so naively entwined without regard for the harsh demands of the real world. The past was ever restless, for them both.

Whiskeyjack, in his heart, was certain that Anomander Rake was not dead. Nor even lost. In the half-dozen late-night conversations he had shared with the Lord of Moon’s Spawn, the Malazan had acquired a sense of the Tiste Andii: despite the alliances, including the long-term partnership with Caladan Brood, Anomander Rake was a man of solitude – an almost pathological independence. He was indifferent to the needs of others, for whatever reassurance or confirmation they might expect or demand.
He said he would be there for the assault on Coral, and so he will.

Through the grey murk ahead he could make out the vanguard, a knotted clump of mounted officers surrounding the fivesome of Humbrall Taur, Hetan, Cafal, Kruppe and Korlat on the road. Beyond them, he saw as he approached, the sky was lighter. They were about to fight their way clear of the squall, with Oponn’s luck in time to halt and prepare a warm meal by sunset’s warm glow before continuing on.

He was pushing his four thousand soldiers too hard. They were the finest he had ever commanded, yet he was demanding the impossible from them. Though the Malazan understood it, Caladan Brood’s sudden loss of faith had shaken Whiskeyjack, more than he would admit to anyone, even Korlat. A fast march by the combined forces might well have given the Seer pause – seeing the arrival of legion upon legion would give any enemy commander incentive to withdraw from an ongoing engagement with Dujek. Exhausted or not, sometimes numbers alone proved sufficient intimidation. The Pannion resources were limited: the Seer would not risk persisting in battle beyond the city’s walls if it endangered his main army.

The appearance of four thousand mud-coated, stumbling soldiers was more likely to bring a smile to the Seer’s lips. Whiskeyjack would have to make his few numbers count – the twelve Tiste Andii, the Ilgres Clan and Humbrall Taur’s elite clans of the White Face would most likely prove crucial, though the combined Barghast support was less than two thousand.

We threw ourselves into the sprint too soon, too far from our prey. In our senseless haste, we’ve left fifty thousand White Face Barghast far behind. This decision may be a fatal one …

Feeling old beyond his years, burdened by flaws born of a spirit mired deep in exhaustion, Whiskeyjack rejoined the vanguard.

*   *   *

Water streamed down the full-length chain surcoat, left long grey hair plastered against it down the back and across the wide but gaunt shoulders. Dull grey helmet gleamed, reflecting the pewter sky with milky indistinction. He stood motionless, head lowered, at the base of a shallow basin, his horse waiting a dozen paces behind him.

Flat, lifeless eyes studied the saturated prairie ground through his great-helm’s fixed, slitted visor. Unblinking, narrowed eyes. Watching the flow of muddy water slashed by the frenzied rain, tiny rivulets, broader sweeps, a ceaseless flow through minute channels, over exposed stone, between the knotted roots of tufted grasses.

The water wended southward.

And here, in this basin, carrying oddly-coloured silts in racing streams, it flowed uphill.

From dust … to mud. So you march with us after all. No, understand, I am pleased.

Kallor swung round, strode back to his horse.

He rode along his own trail, and, with dusk gathering quickly beneath the leaden clouds and driving rain, came at last to the encampment. There were no fires outside the rows of tents, and the glow of lanterns was dull through patchy canvas. The muddy aisles were crowded with Great Ravens, hunched and motionless under the deluge.

Reining in before Caladan Brood’s command tent, Kallor dismounted and strode within.

The outrider, Hurlochel, stood just within the flap, present as Brood’s messenger should such need arise. The young man was wan, half asleep at his station. Ignoring him, Kallor raised his visor and stepped past.

The warlord was uncharacteristically slumped in a camp chair, his hammer resting across his thighs. He had not bothered to clean the mud from his armour or boots. His strangely bestial eyes lifted, took in Kallor, then dropped once more. ‘I have made a mistake,’ he rumbled.

‘I agree, Warlord.’

That earned Brood’s sharpened attention. ‘You must have misunderstood…’

‘I have not. We should have joined Whiskeyjack. The annihilation of Onearm’s Host – no matter how much that might please me personally – will be a tactical disaster for this campaign.’

‘All very well, Kallor,’ Brood rumbled, ‘but there is little we can do about it, now.’

‘This storm will pass, Warlord. You can increase our pace come the morning – we can perhaps shave off a day. I am here for another reason, however. One that is, conveniently, related to our change of heart.’

‘Spit it out short and sweet, Kallor, or not at all.’

‘I would ride to join Whiskeyjack and Korlat.’

‘To what end? An apology?’

Kallor shrugged. ‘If that would help. More directly, however, you seem to forget my … experience. For all that I seem to grate upon all of you, I have walked this land when the T’lan Imass were but children. I have commanded armies a hundred thousand strong. I have spread the fire of my wrath across entire continents, and sat alone upon tall thrones. Do you grasp the meaning of this?’

‘Yes. You never learn, Kallor.’

‘Clearly,’ he snapped, ‘you do not grasp the meaning. I know a field of battle better than any man alive, including you.’

‘The Malazans seem to have done very well on this continent without your help. Besides, what makes you think Whiskeyjack or Dujek will heed your suggestions?’

‘They are rational men, Warlord. You forget something else about me, as well, it seems. With my blade drawn, I have not faced defeat in a hundred thousand years.’

‘Kallor, you choose your enemies well. Have you ever crossed weapons with Anomander Rake? Dassem Ultor? Graymane? The Seguleh First?’

He did not need to add:
with me?
‘I will face none of them in Coral,’ Kallor growled. ‘Just Seerdomin, Urdomen, Septarchs—’

‘And perhaps a K’Chain Che’Malle or three?’

‘I did not think any remained, Warlord.’

‘Maybe. Maybe not. I am somewhat surprised, Kallor, by your sudden … zeal.’

The tall warrior shrugged. ‘I would answer my own ill advice, that is all. Do you give me leave to join Whiskeyjack and Korlat?’

Brood studied him for a time, then he sighed and waved one mud-spattered, gauntleted hand. ‘Go.’

Kallor spun and strode from the tent. Outside, he approached his horse.

A few miserable Great Ravens, huddled beneath a wagon, were the only witnesses to his sudden smile.

*   *   *

The floes abutting the rocky shoreline were all awash in darkly stained water. Lady Envy watched Baaljagg and Garath splash through it towards the forest-crowded strand. Sighing, she parted the veil on her warren, enough to permit her to cross without getting wet.

She had had more than enough of wild seas, black water, submerged mountains of ice and freezing rain, and was contemplating fashioning a suitably efficacious curse upon Nerruse and Beru both, the Lady for her failure to maintain reasonable order upon her waters, the Lord for his evidently senseless outrage at being so thoroughly exploited. Of course, such a curse might well weaken the pantheon yet further, and that would not be appreciated.

She sighed. ‘So, I must forgo such pleasure … or at least suspend it for a time. Oh well.’ Turning, she saw Senu, Thurule and Mok clambering down the near-vertical ice sheet that led down to the floe. Moments later, the Seguleh were sloshing their way to the shore.

Lanas Tog had vanished a short while past, to reappear beneath the trees directly opposite them.

Lady Envy stepped off the jagged, frost-rimed edge of the Meckros street, settled slowly towards the bridge of ice. She approached the strand’s tumbled line of rocks where the others had gathered.

‘Finally!’ she said upon arriving, stepping gingerly onto sodden moss close to where Lanas Tog stood. Huge cedars marched into the gloom of the slope that climbed steep and rough up the mountainside behind the T’lan Imass. Brushing flecks of snow from her telaba, Lady Envy studied the unwelcoming forest for a moment, then fixed her attention on Lanas Tog.

Ice was slipping in long, narrow slivers from the swords impaling the T’lan Imass. White frost died in spreading patches on the undead creature’s withered face.

‘Oh dear, you’re thawing.’

‘I will scout ahead,’ Lanas Tog said. ‘People have passed along this shoreline recently. More than twenty, less than fifty, some heavily laden.’

‘Indeed?’ Lady Envy glanced around, saw no sign that anyone had walked where they now stood. ‘Are you certain? Oh, never mind. I didn’t ask that question. Well! In which direction were they walking?’

The T’lan Imass faced east. ‘The same as us.’

‘How curious! We will by chance catch up with them?’

‘Unlikely, mistress. They are perhaps fours days ahead—’

‘Four days! They have reached Coral, then!’

‘Yes. Do you wish to rest, or shall we proceed?’

Lady Envy turned to examine the others. Baaljagg still carried a spearhead in her shoulder, though it seemed to be slowly making its way out, and the flow of blood had slowed considerably. She would have liked to have healed the ay’s wound, but the beast would not let her come close enough. Garath looked hale, though a solid mass of old scars etched the hound’s mottled hide. The three Seguleh had effected what repairs they could to their armour and weapons, and stood waiting, their masks freshly painted. ‘Hmm, it seems there is to be no delay, no delay at all! Such eagerness, oh pity poor Coral!’ She swung round suddenly. ‘Lanas Tog, tell me, has Onos T’oolan passed this way as well?’

‘I do not know, mistress. Those mortals who preceded us, however, were tracked by a predator. No doubt curious. I sense no lingering violence in this area, so the beast probably abandoned them once it fully gauged their strength.’

‘A beast? What kind of beast, darling?’

The T’lan Imass shrugged. ‘A large cat. A tiger, perhaps – forests such as these suit them, I believe.’

‘Now, isn’t that titillating? By all means, Lanas Tog, strike out on this fated trail – we shall follow upon your very heels!’

*   *   *

The trenches and tunnel entrances had been well disguised, beneath cedar branches and piles of moss, and without the preternatural skills of the mages the Bridgeburners might not have found them.

Paran made his way down what he had mentally labelled the command tunnel, passing racks of weapons – pikes, halberds, lances, longbows and bundles of arrows – and alcoves packed solid with food, water and other supplies, until he came to the large, fortified chamber which the Septarch had clearly intended to be his headquarters.

Quick Ben and his motley cadre of mages sat, squatted or sprawled in a rough half-circle near the far end, beyond the map table, looking like a pack of water-rats who’d just taken over a beaver’s lodge.

The captain glanced down at the large painted hide pinned to the tabletop as he strode past, on which the Pannions had conveniently mapped out the entire maze of tunnels and entrenchments, the location of supplies and what kind, the approaches and retreats.

‘All right,’ Paran said as he joined the mages, ‘what do you have?’

‘Someone’s got wise in Coral,’ Quick Ben said, ‘and realized that this place should have a company holed up here, as a guard – Trotts was keeping an eye on the city and watched them file out. They’ll reach us in a bell.’

‘A company,’ Paran scowled. ‘What’s that in Pannion terms?’

‘Four hundred Beklites, twenty Urdomen, four Seerdomin, one of them ranking and likely a sorcerer.’

‘And which approaches do you think they’ll use?’

‘The three stepped ones,’ Spindle replied, reaching to scratch under his hairshirt. ‘They go under trees all the way, lots of switchbacks, meaning the poor bastards will have a hard time rushing our positions once we let loose.’

Paran turned back to study the map. ‘Assuming they’re flexible, what will they choose as an alternative?’

‘The main ramp,’ Quick Ben said, rising to join the captain. He tapped a finger on the map. ‘The one they’d planned on using for the downward march to launch the ambush. No cover for them, but if they can lock shields out front and turtle … well, there’s only forty of us…’

‘Munitions?’

The wizard looked back at Spindle, who made a sour face and said, ‘We’re short. Maybe if we use ’em right, we’ll squash this company – but then the Seer will know what’s up, and he’ll send twenty thousand up this mountainside. If Dujek doesn’t show soon, we’ll have to pull out, Captain.’

‘I know, Spindle, which is why I want you to set aside the cussers and burners – I want these tunnels rigged. If we have to scramble, we leave this strongpoint nothing but mud and ashes.’

The sapper gaped. ‘Captain, without them cussers and burners, the Seer won’t need to send anybody after this company – it’ll take us clean out!’

‘Assuming there’s enough of them left to regroup and come up the main ramp. In other words, Spindle, pull the sappers together and cook up the messiest stew you can for those three hidden trails. If we can make it seem like the whole Malazan army’s up here … better yet, if we can make sure not one soldier in this company gets out alive, we’ll have purchased the time we need. The less certain we leave the Seer the safer we’ll be. So, close that mouth and find Hedge and the rest. Your moment of glory’s arrived, Spindle – go.’

Muttering, the man scrambled out of the chamber.

Paran faced the others. ‘A Seerdomin sorceror, you said. All right, he needs to drop fast once the fun starts. What do you have in mind, gentlemen?’

Shank grinned. ‘My idea, Captain. It’s classic, deadly – especially because it’s so unexpected. I’ve already completed the ritual, left it primed – all Quick Ben needs to do is tell me when he’s spotted the bastard.’