The Bonehunters (Malazan Book of the Fallen, #6)

by Steven Erikson

‘You bind us to servitude! Trap us with threats! Curdle, we have been deceived!’ ‘Let’s kill her and steal her body!’ ‘Let’s not, Curdle. Something about her frightens me. All right, Apsalar who is not Apsalar, we shall stay here…for a time. Until we can be certain you are dead or worse, that’s how long we’ll stay here.’ ‘Or until you return,’ Curdle added.

It must be taken as given that a man who happens to be the world’s most powerful, most terrible, most deadly sorceror, must have a woman at his side. But it does not follow, my children, that a woman of similar proportions requires a man at hers. Now then, who wants to be a tyrant?

All patterns are known to me, for they have been played out countless times before.

Seti are just failed Wickans. Everybody knows that. And you, you’re a failed Seti.’

I am done speaking, witch. Witness.’

‘And then we leave,’ the wizard added. ‘No heroic stands.’ ‘The Fourteenth’s motto,’ Stormy said, with a loud sigh. ‘Which?’ Gesler asked. ‘And then we leave or No heroic stands?’ ‘Take your pick.’

‘Let’s just go kill it,’ Stormy said, shifting about. ‘And then we can talk about what it was.’

‘A toad who likes to cook in comfort! The madness of the Grand Ending is upon us! Come any closer, demon, and I’ll spit your legs and roast them over a fire – do you think I no longer eat? You are right, but I will roast you in vicious spite, drooling with irony – ah! You liked that, didn’t you?’

‘The sun returns! Not again! Telorast, we need to hide! Somewhere!’ ‘No we don’t, you idiot. We just get harder to see, that’s all, unless you’re not mindful. Of course, Curdle, you are incapable of being mindful, so I look forward to your wailing dissolution. Peace, at last. For a while, at least—’ ‘You are evil, Telorast! I’ve always known it, even before you went and used that knife on—’ ‘Be quiet! I never used that knife on anyone.’ ‘And you’re a liar!’ ‘Say that again and I’ll stick you!’ ‘You can’t! I’m dissolving!’

We blame Shadowthrone.’ ‘Shadowthrone? Why?’ ‘Why not? We hate him.’ ‘And that is sufficient reason?’ ‘The sufficientest reason of all.’

‘If I possessed you I wouldn’t do that to me. Not even to Curdle, I wouldn’t. Well, maybe, if I was mad. You’re not mad at me, are you? Please don’t be mad at me. I’ll do anything you ask, until you’re dead. Then I’ll dance on your stinking, bloated corpse, because that’s what you would want me to do, isn’t it? I would if I was you and you were dead and I lingered long enough to dance on you, which I would do.’

‘Smirking observation. Soft-curved, large-breasted woman wants to press flesh with Cutter.’

‘Greyfrog’s own advances unwelcome. Despondent sulk. You, Cutter, of seed-issuing capacity, capable of effecting beget. Past revelation. Human women carry breeding pond in bellies. But one egg survives, only one. Terrible risk! You must fill pond as quickly as possible, before rival male appears to steal your destiny. Greyfrog will defend your claim.

The first cracks appeared shortly after the execution of Sha’ik. None could know the mind of Adjunct Tavore. Not her closest officers, and not the common soldier under her command. But there were distant stirrings, to be sure, more easily noted in retrospect, and it would be presumptuous and indeed dismissive to claim that the Adjunct was ignorant of the growing troubles, not only in her command, but at the very heart of the Malazan Empire. Given that, the events at Y’Ghatan could have been a fatal wound. Were someone else in command, were that someone’s heart any less hard, any less cold. This, more than at any other time beforehand, gave brutal truth to the conviction that Adjunct Tavore was cold iron, thrust into the soul of a raging forge…

Joyful Union was basking in the sun as it dined, ringed in by stones, with Bottle lying close by and studying the way it fed as the scorpion snipped apart the capemoth he had given it for breakfast, when a military issue boot crunched down on the arachnid, the heel twisting. Bottle jerked back in dumbfounded horror, stared up at the figure standing over him, a surge of murderous intent filling his being. Backlit by the morning light, the figure was little more than a silhouette. ‘Soldier,’ the voice was a woman’s, the accent Korelri, ‘which squad is this?’ Bottle’s mouth opened and closed a few times, then he said in a low tone, ‘This is the squad that will start making plans to kill you, once they find out what you’ve just done.’ ‘Allow me,’ she said, ‘to clarify matters for you, soldier. I am Captain Faradan Sort, and I cannot abide scorpions. Now, I want to see how well you manage a salute while lying down.’ ‘You want a salute, Captain? Which one? I have plenty of salutes to choose from. Any preference?’ ‘The salute that tells me you have just become aware of the precipice I am about to kick your ass over. After I shove the sack of bricks up it, of course.’ Oh. ‘Standard salute, then. Of course, Captain.’ He arched his back and managed to hold the salute for a few heartbeats…waiting for her to respond, which she did not. Gasping, he collapsed back down, inhaling a mouthful of dust. ‘We will try that again later, soldier. Your name?’ ‘Uh, Smiles, sir.’ ‘Well, I doubt I w...

‘Never knifed a single officer, sir…in the back. And I don’t know a damned thing about fighting, except surviving it.’

‘She stepped on Joyful Union!’ ‘Well, that settles it,’ Cuttle said, grunting as he sat up. ‘She’s dead.’

‘I didn’t really think you’d answer my prayer.’ ‘I am a god virtually brimming with surprises.’ Kalam’s gaze narrowed. ‘You came damned fast, too. As if you were…close by.’ ‘An outrageous assumption,’ Cotillion said. ‘Yet, oddly enough, accurate.’

‘Adjutant Stormy,’ Cotillion said, ‘is not quite as mortal as he might seem. Annealed in the fires of Thyrllan. Or Kurald Liosan. Or Tellann. Or all three. In any case, as you can see, he’s mending already. The broken ribs are completely healed, as is the failing liver and shattered hip. And the cracked skull. Alas, nothing can be done for the brain within it.’ ‘He’s lost his mind?’ ‘I doubt he ever had one,’

Never bargain with a man who has nothing to lose.

And if you get a limb lopped off don’t come crawling back to me – gods, I can’t believe I just said that. Of course you can come crawling back to me, just be sure to bring the limb along.’ ‘You don’t possess High Denul, Pearl, so what point in bringing back the limb?’ ‘I’d just like to see it, that’s all.’ ‘If I do come crawling back, Pearl, it will be to stick a knife in your neck.’ ‘With those cheery words you can go now, dear.’

‘What’s your name?’ Hellian demanded. ‘Throatslitter—’ ‘Nice. Now go and slit your own throat.

‘The locals believe Coltaine ascended, Nether. The new Patron of Crows—’ ‘Fools. Wickans do not ascend. We just…reiterate.’

The Errant’s enemy was ennui, stagnation.

‘You are an idiot!’ This cry came from the darkness off to one side, and a moment later Mogora appeared from the gloom. The gloom, yes, that explains everything. ‘What are you doing here, hag?’ ‘Saving Mappo, of course.’ ‘What? I have saved him already!’ ‘Saving him from you, I meant!’ She scrabbled closer. ‘What’s that vial in your hand? That’s venom of paralt! You damned idiot, you were going to kill him! After all he’s been through!’ ‘Paralt? That’s right, wife, it’s paralt. You arrived, so I was about to drink it.’

‘So what do I do now? You’ve made me useless, woman!’ ‘That’s not hard, husband. Make us camp.’ ‘I already told my mule to do that.’ ‘It’s a mule, you idiot…’ Her words trailed away as she noted the flicker of firelight off to one side. Turning, she studied the large canvas tent, expertly erected, and the stone-ringed hearth where a pot of water already steamed beneath a tripod. Nearby stood the mule, eating from its bag of oats.

‘Oh, she’s suspicious now, isn’t she? But I won’t tell her anything. Except the hint, the modest hint, of my vast knowledge. Yes indeed, I know my dear god’s mind – and a twisted, chaotic, weaselly mind it is. In fact, I know so much I am speechless – hah, look at her, those beetle eyes narrowing suspiciously, as if she dares grow aware of my profound ignorance in all matters pertaining to my cherished, idiotic god. Dares, and would challenge me openly. I would crumble before that onslaught, of course.’

It’s a fact that men don’t need words, but women do. We have penises, after all. Who needs words when you have a penis? Whereas with women there are two breasts, which invites conversation, just as a good behind presents perfect punctuation, something every man knows.

‘All right, then,’ Sergeant Hellian said, ‘which one of you wants to be my new corporal?’ Touchy and Brethless exchanged glances. ‘What?’ Touchy asked. ‘Us? But you got Balgrid and Tavos Pond, now. Or even—’ ‘It’s my new squad and I decide these things.’ She squinted over at the other soldiers. ‘Balgrid’s a mage. So’s Tavos Pond.’ She scowled at the two men. ‘I don’t like mages, they’re always disappearing, right when you want to ask them something.’ Her gaze slid across to the last two soldiers. ‘Maybe’s a sapper and enough said about that, and Lutes is our healer. That leaves…’ Hellian returned her attention to the twins, ‘you two.’ ‘Fine,’ said Touchy. ‘I’ll be corporal.’ ‘Hold on,’ Brethless said. ‘I want to be corporal! I ain’t taking no orders from him, Sergeant. Not a chance. I got the brains, you know—’ Touchy snorted. ‘Then, since you didn’t know what to do with them, you threw them away.’ ‘You’re a big fat liar, Touchy—’ ‘Quiet!’ Hellian reached for her sword. But then remembered and drew a knife instead. ‘Another word either of you and I’ll cut myself.’ The squad stared at her. ‘I’m a woman, see, and with women, it’s how we deal with men. You’re all men. Give me trouble and I’ll stick this knife in my arm. Or leg. Or maybe I’ll slice a nipple off. And you bastards will have to live with that. For the rest of your days, you’ll have to live with the fact that you were being such assholes that Hellian went and disfigured herself.’ No-one spoke. Smiling, Hellian res...

‘Come near me with intentions other than amorous and I’ll stick you.’ ‘Amorous. What a horrible thought—’ ‘What if I told you I was pregnant?’ ‘I’d kill the mule.’

‘Nice one, Captain. I didn’t think any of you’d make it. From what I saw, though, you left things nearly too late – too close. Saw your mouth moving – some kind of spell or something? Didn’t know you were a mage—’ ‘I’m not. I was saying “I hope this works”.’

Hedge lifted a satchel into view. ‘Now, before you ask me where I been hiding this, don’t bother. Here in this place, details like that don’t matter.’ He grinned. ‘Some people would like to take gold with ’em when they go. Me, I’ll take Moranth munitions over gold any day. After all, you don’t know what you’re going to meet on the other side, right? So, it’s always better holding onto the option of blowing things up.’

Shadowthrone raised a long-fingered hand that filled most of the card. Closed it into a fist. ‘Let me see,’ the god’s voice purred, ‘if I understand you.’ One finger snapped upward. ‘The Nameless Idiots go and release Dejim Nebrahl. Why? Because they’re idiots. Their own lies caught up with them, so they needed to get rid of a servant who was doing what they wanted him to do in the first place, only doing it too well!’ Shadowthrone’s voice was steadily climbing in pitch and volume. A second finger shot into view. ‘Then, you, the Master Idiot of the Deck of Dragons, decide to release the Deragoth, to get rid of Dejim Nebrahl. But wait, even better!’ A third finger. ‘Some other serious nasty wandering Seven Cities just killed two Deragoth, and maybe that nasty is still close by, and would like a few more trophies to drag behind his damned horse!’ His voice was now a shriek. ‘And now! Now!’ The hand closed back into a fist, shaking about. ‘You want me to send the Hounds of Shadow to Seven Cities! Because it’s finally occurred to that worm-ridden walnut you call a brain that the Deragoth won’t bother with Dejim Nebrahl until they find my Hounds! And if they come looking here in my realm, there’ll be no stopping them!’ He halted suddenly, the fist motionless. Then various fingers sprang into view in an increasingly chaotic pattern. Shadowthrone snarled and the frenzied hand vanished. A whisper: ‘Pure genius. Why didn’t I think of that?’ The tone began rising once more. ‘Why? Be...

Dismay. I can hop no more.

‘Boatfinder, tell me, from the frozen time into the flowing time, is there a bridge?’ His smile was wistful, filled with longing. ‘There is.’ ‘But you cannot cross it.’ ‘No.’ ‘Because it’s burning.’ ‘Yes, witch, the bridge burns.’

You can stop now, Koryk – you’ve reached your quota for the year. Besides, Bottle ain’t gonna eat them rats. He’s married the momma and adopted the whelps – you missed the ceremony, Koryk, when you was off hunting bones. Too bad, we all cried.’

‘Joy! Dearest Scillara, time of vigil is at an end! Stalwart and brave Greyfrog has defended your sanctity, and the brood even now squirms in Brother L’oric’s arms!’ ‘Greyfrog? But they said you were dead! What are you doing talking to me? You never talk to me!’ ‘Female with brood must be sheathed with silence. All slivers and darts of irritation fended off by noble Greyfrog. And now, happily, I am free to infuse your sweet self with my undying love!’ ‘Gods below, is this what the others had to put up with?’ She reached for her pipe and pouch of rustleaf.

‘Goddess,’ Paran said, settling back on his horse, ‘I remain turned away. The choice is mine, not yours, and so you see only what I will you to see.’

Alone once again, Shadowthrone settled back in his throne. ‘So fraught,’ he whispered. ‘So…careless, unmindful of this vast, echoing, mostly empty hall. Poor man. Poor, poor man. Ah, what’s this I find in my hand?’ He looked over to see a short-handled scythe now gripped and poised before him. The god narrowed his gaze, looked about in the gloomy air, then said, ‘Well, look at these! Threads! Worse than cobwebs, these! Getting everywhere – grossly indicative of sloppy…housekeeping. No, they won’t do, won’t do at all.’ He swept the scythe’s blade through the sorcerous tendrils, watched as they spun away into nothingness. ‘There now,’ he said, smiling, ‘I feel more hygienic already.’

‘I can’t stay, I’m afraid. But let me leave you with this: you made a terrible mistake. Fortunately, you won’t have long to regret it.’

‘Mess with mortals, Poliel,’ he said, wheeling his horse round, ‘and you pay.’

‘Tavore will do, wizard, what needs to be done.’ ‘To suit her or her soldiers?’ Quick Ben demanded. ‘For her, friend, there is no distinction.’

‘As for suffering, I leave that to you, and through no choice of mine.’

‘What do you think it will be like, crossing an ocean?’ ‘Like a desert,’ Cutter said, ‘only wetter.’

When wealth ascends to a point where the majority of the poor finally comprehend that it is, for each of them, unattainable, then all civility collapses, and anarchy prevails.

‘Sergeant,’ the Adjunct said, seemingly unperturbed, ‘am I to understand that you and those squads behind you burrowed beneath Y’Ghatan in the midst of the firestorm, somehow managing not to get cooked in the process, and then dug your way clear?’ Fiddler turned his head and spat blood, then he smiled a chilling, ghastly smile, the flaking lips splitting in twin rows of red, glistening fissures. ‘Aye,’ he said in a rasp, ‘we went hunting…through the bones of the damned city. And then, with the captain’s help, we crawled outa that grave.’ The Adjunct’s gaze left the ragged man, travelled slowly along the line, the gaunt faces, the deathly eyes staring out from dust-caked faces, the naked, blistered skin. ‘Bonehunters in truth, then.’ She paused, as Pores led his healers forward with their waterskins, then said, ‘Welcome back, soldiers.’

There were clouds closed fast round the moon. And one by one, gardens died.

‘Yes, let her think on that for a while. That tiny frown wrinkling her brow is so endearing. More than that, admit it, it inspires lust – oh yes, I’m not as shrivelled up as they no doubt think and in so thinking perforce nearly convince me! Besides, she wants me. I can tell. After all, I had a wife, didn’t I? Not like Mappo there, with his bestial no doubt burgeoning traits, no, he has no-one! Indeed, am I not experienced? Am I not capable of delicious, enticing subtlety? Am I not favoured by my idiotic, endlessly miscalculating god?’

The Deragoth were primal, but sometimes, that which was primal found itself assailed by a world that no longer permitted its unmitigated freedom.

‘What do you want? More than anything else, Hood. What do you want?’ And so Hood told him. And, among the corpses, limbs and staring faces in the gate, one face in particular suddenly grew animate, its eyes opening very wide – a detail neither noticed. Paran stared at the god, disbelieving. ‘You can’t be serious.’ ‘Death is always serious.’ ‘Oh, enough with the portentous crap! Are you certain?’ ‘Can you achieve what I ask, Ganoes Paran?’ ‘I will. Somehow.’ ‘Do you so vow?’ ‘I do.’