Assail (Novels of the Malazan Empire, #6)

by Ian C. Esslemont

The undying creature raised its bony shoulders in an eloquent shrug. ‘It is simply existence. Ours or yours.’ She allowed herself to slump back as if in utter defeat. ‘You mean the elimination of all other than you. That is the flaw of your kind. You can only countenance your family or tribe to live.’ ‘So it is with all others.’ ‘No, it is not. You are merely unable to see this.’

Apparently, word first came from a shipwreck on the Jourilan coast. Some people heralding from some backward land named Lether.

A caustic smile twisted her lips as she realized that they’d both come armed. He with the multitude of weapons he habitually carried: sticks, knives, twinned longswords, and who knew what else hidden away. Gods, he was the Guard’s weaponmaster. A fish would be deadly in this man’s hands.

The woman was still staring off towards the sea. Her old patched furs lashed and snapped about her. She answered, ‘You may call me Silverfox.’

These rocks, and the twisted course between, choked Fear Narrows, the entrance to the inland Dread Sea – which some also called the Sea of Dread.

LMAO

Enguf stroked his thick russet beard. ‘Oh yes. I forgot that being civilized means constructing laws that favour yourself while at the same time disadvantaging everyone else.’

‘Don’t worry about it,’ he answered, quite untroubled. ‘The coins are from Lether and worthless. The gold plating their brass is thinner than Letherii generosity – which is non-existent.’

As hard as pulled iron this one, Fisher reflected. The sort of widow who could outlive any number of men.

The big man sighed. ‘It is my fate to always be the man women aren’t expecting.’

Shimmer crossed to Gwynn. ‘Black flames?’ she murmured. He shrugged. ‘Thought it would be impressive.’

‘What is it?’ ‘Just an old worn piece of amber. The gift of a friend long ago.’

‘Yes,’ he told Ieleen. ‘They’re still with us. Two are of a strange cut to me, though one’s a Malazan galley or I’m a Kartoolian eunuch.’ ‘You’re no eunuch, luv. I’ll attest to that.’ Pained, he lowered his voice. ‘Not in front of the crew, dearest.’ She waved a hand. ‘Oh, they’re happy when we’re happy. They just don’t like it when we fight.’

She just smiled. ‘Every time we have this argument. And every time you lose. Now, forget about me and mind our speed.’

‘So, sir. Are you the Cartheron?’ ‘How many damned Cartherons do you know?’ the man growled. ‘Well … just you.’ ‘Good. For a moment there you had me worried.’

Cartheron’s first mate had glared at the proposal and now he hissed aside to his captain: ‘You’re drinking the manifest!’ ‘Manifestly. Now be a good man and have a bottle sent over.’ The first mate glared anew but threw his hands in the air and stalked off, grumbling and gesticulating. ‘… not a rat’s arse left … empty hold … utter loss … chicken farm…’

‘To ample wine and rich women,’ Cartheron answered. ‘Or is it the other way round?’

The Blue Shields! Of course. One of the fighting religious cults out of Elingarth. A brother order to the Grey Swords who had fought the Pannion threat years ago.

‘Take my advice, lad,’ he said. ‘Don’t get caught up in all this talk of missions and god-given purposes. I’ve seen it before and it only leads to misery and pain.’

‘Before I was in Korel lands,’ Kyle said conversationally, hefting the blade, ‘I was with a mercenary company. The Crimson Guard. And with them I acquired a rare and mysterious skill. I will demonstrate it now.’ Storval frowned at him, puzzled. ‘What?’ Kyle kicked the pack up to his free hand and turned to the side. He planted one foot on the gunwale and leapt over.

was cold, yes, but it was bracing and enlivening. He did not know how to say it exactly, but he felt strong. His senses – his hearing, his sight, even his sense of smell – all seemed keener than before.

He decided to keep quiet about it and not risk the old man’s scepticism, or mockery.

Sigh

He awoke to licks in the face and dog breath.

Orman found that while Old Bear could, literally, overbear any of them, his technique with the spear was poor.

He played late into the evening. At times Jethiss stirred, thrashing on his bedding. It was not until Fisher put away the instrument and lay down upon his own Malazan-issued blankets that he realized he’d unconsciously been playing themes from Anomandaris, his epic lay concerning Anomander Rake.

But he had been taught by the best as well, by veterans of the Crimson Guard, and by Greymane himself. Grey had been a legendary brawler. ‘Just win,’ his friend had always berated him. ‘Never mind the fancy shit – just win.’

‘What happened?’ ‘You won. Barely. It was stupid, but impressive. He was fast, that one. Damned fast. You have all the time you need to recover. We’re guests of the Silent People now.’ ‘I see. Well, if you don’t mind I’ll pass out again.’ ‘Go ahead.’

And on that account, Reuth believed they had earned what they had so far received – the very real possibility of an ugly anonymous death on some desolate shore like this.

‘You underestimate the blind spitefulness of the self-righteous.’

‘Women are terrifying to men,’ he whispered, ‘because they can break them with the simplest word or briefest glance.’

You’re too young to be brave enough to say no.

Today you’re alive, lad.’ ‘What of it?’ ‘What of it?’ Old Bear appeared horrified. ‘Why, lad. That’s everything! Live every day as if honourably facing death then celebrate if you live to see its end, hey?’

Coils of mist enmeshed the sailor. As Jute watched, those ropes and scarves lifted the man up into the air where he struggled in eerie silence. Then the ribbons of shifting gossamer fog about his middle yanked tight. The man vomited – but not the normal stomach contents. The very organs themselves came bursting from his mouth in a rain of escaping fluids to slap to the ground as a mess of pulped viscera.

‘Loyal brother, mighty in wrath. Mighty in wrestling, mighty in laughter. Far-reiver, beloved companion. You are lost to us, and Lost you shall remain for ever. None shall undo this till these mountains are ground to the sea.’

‘That’s what journeys are for, my love. You have to take the path to learn where you want to be.’

‘Who is that?’ the fellow called. ‘Name yourself!’ ‘Greki,’ Orman answered. ‘Greki? Greki who?’ Still advancing, Orman said, ‘Greki … the False,’ and lunged, swinging a hatchet upwards to catch the man under his jaw, splitting it. The fellow gurgled a howl, clutching his face, and fell. Orman finished him with a cut to the back of the neck.

He closed a fist upon the weapon. Though he now hated it, it was his. His burden to carry. His curse. If it could speak, he now understood it would be laughing at all the blood it had drunk, the discord and violence it had sown.

youth. He’d grown up on the Myrni Holding, just to the east. They had taken in his mother, who was of the ancient Fanyar Hold, long pushed out of her homeland. As such, a half-blood, he came to find that he was welcome in neither world.

The last being some three decades ago – in the wider world he’d found that those of Iceblood descent lived a far greater allotment of years.

incursion. They’ll be back. And in greater numbers.’

Old, she reflected grimly. I am already old. Yet I see myself as a young woman. Perhaps everyone comes to do so, and I have simply reached the self-revelation prematurely.

However, Haagen and I agree that we are mortal, yet there resides within us some portion that is non-corporeal, imperishable. Just as some element of Togg and all the various gods remains imperishable. And that now, it is to this that we join or are enfolded after death. And whatever that is could be named the Divine. To that will we dedicate our prayers and the care of our spirit.’

The point of a brown flint sword punched through the front of her chest. Yet her eyes held Silverfox’s. As they dimmed, it seemed to the Summoner that they poured forth a child’s hurt at a profound betrayal, and this grief broke Silverfox’s heart.

The question nagged him how he could calmly lie here in this hall while an army marched upon it. The answer was obvious and easy: because his friends defended it. And if Greymane were here, he’d do just the same.

‘Aye. Your Stormriders. The ignorant speak of the winters of the Stormriders and the Jaghut as if they are the same thing. But that is not so. The Riders are alien. Not of this world. Indeed, some argue that in their original form they were of the frigid black gaps between the worlds – but that cannot be decided.

‘No one expects the past to reach out and destroy the present – or the future.’

These undying had abandoned everything – even their hope for a future for themselves. They had sacrificed everything before the implacable pursuit of their goal. In that moment, as her life fled from her, she saw deeper into the essence of these undying and saw that she was mistaken – that there was something. A possibility. ‘Do not despair,’ she spoke

You shall carry our legacy into the future. For that possibility alone, Yrain and I are glad to send you like a spear thrown onward into the years to come.’

Then tears came to the man’s eyes and he clamped a blood-smeared hand on Cartheron’s arm. ‘I’m sorry!’ he gasped, suddenly panicked. ‘I’m so sorry she fell. I failed her. Do you forgive me?’ It was fairly clear to Jute that, like so many in dying, the man was now rambling of his past. ‘We all failed her,’ Cartheron answered, and Jute was surprised by the strength of emotion in his voice. ‘Only after she was gone did I see how much we needed her.’

‘As I said. He once was a Claw. Bodyguard to Empress Laseen, in fact. They used to call him Possum.’

‘We are privileged,’ the Bonecaster remarked with something like very dry humour. She blinked, not certain she understood. ‘Privileged?’ ‘To witness something thought long gone from the world. The birth … well, the rebirth of a Jaghut ice barrier. The T’lan are understandably rather … angered.’