Kellanved's Reach (Path to Ascendancy, #3)

by Ian C. Esslemont

She eyed the upper rooms and ran her fingertips over the ridged calloused knuckles of her other hand. ‘Remind me to stop underestimating that damned fool mage.’

Elath’s mood was now positively darkening. ‘And you are … Orjin Samarr? Yes? Well, come out with it, Captain Samarr.

‘Listen.’ The man hidden within spoke again, his voice clipped and breathless. ‘Are you naturally this much of an asshole, or are you making an extra special effort?’

‘Of course!’ The mage drew himself up straight and pronounced, ‘If not now, then what? If not where, then who?’ Dancer stared at him, his brows crimping. ‘What?’

Once more he tried to make sense of what the Tano Spiritwalker had confided to him that day in the far-off Seven Cities prison. That this mage may inhabit more than one plane or Warren at any one time. That having been engulfed by a storm of Otataral dust, his essence had been annealed, or translated, across more than one location: the mundane physical plane, the Warren of Shadow, and this strange artificial dimension – be it whatever it was.

The lad raised his walking stick to the stars. ‘Then it happened. A revelation in the wilds. As you now know, mystic legend has it that ancient Shadow, Kurald Emurlahn, was shattered, broken into countless shards. In these very grasslands, I stumbled upon, or was washed over by, one of those shards, and at that moment everything became clear. Shadow! That was my home. All the dark insults and muttered asides directed my way during my youth were explained: such a fragment had happened to pass over, or through, the village during the moment of my birth.’

It is in Meanas that I feel most whole. It is my centre. I was formed within its influence. Do you think it mere chance that the Hounds responded to me? No. My soul, my essence, belongs there. It took a while – but they recognized a kindred spirit.’

The two parted, hands on the knives at their belts. Curious, Tayschrenn also noted the glint of identical brooches at their chests: silver tokens that resembled birds’ feet.

Some time later, exhausted, and, Gregar suspected, possibly lost, they halted next to a giant oak, gathered up armfuls of leaves, and covered themselves to attempt to sleep.

Her mouth, however, soured the striking effect, pulled down as it was in a lined frown. Bitch face, Iko had heard this sort of resting expression named.

She took hold of her long braids, one on either side of her head, and rested her arms in this manner, the way a man might tuck his hands into his belt.

The squat but powerfully built man travelled in a plain loincloth only, his arms, chest, and legs bare and sun-scorched, yet declaring to all his role and his calling, for tattooed upon his flesh, rising from his ankles to his shoulders and onward to his face and wrists, rode emblazoned the likeness of a rampaging boar: Fener – the god of war himself.

‘From very far away,’ she answered, her voice tired and very soft. He cocked a brow. Fine. Be all reserved and distant, then. Yet his ruthlessly analytical self could not help but whisper in his ear: And are you irritated with her because she’s better at it than you?

‘You can’t call your command the Seventh Army, Urko. We only have one.’ The huge fellow leaned back, crossing his thick arms. ‘Seven is my lucky number – so my command is the Seventh.’

Surly’s hard gaze swivelled back to the giant Crust brother. ‘We have Claws,’ she said meditatively. ‘Why not Fists? Fists for commanders rather than Swords. That would make Cartheron High Fist.’

‘Those,’ she added, ‘who claim not to be selfish are usually lying.’

‘And you expect answers?’ He shook his head, chuckling. ‘Do I look that much a fool? No, I can only ask. That is all we mortals can do – make the effort. Try. The rest is in the hands of the gods.’

Where he had control he was at ease; where he had no control he was unbearable.

After an agonizing wait in which he absolutely decided that she’d betrayed him, then flipped to grant her more time, then changed his mind again a dozen times over, gasps of awe – and a good deal of relief – sounded from his troops scanning the south.

Apparently, in his absence, he’d been put in charge of all the military; promoted to some damned fool made-up rank of High Fist.

‘Since we have impressed and recruited all we can, I suggest hiring.’ Malle scowled her disapproval. ‘You know what I think of mercenaries.’ ‘Skinner and his troop are close by…’ The scowl became a grimace of distaste. ‘Collecting Wickan scalps for Duke Baran. You do know why he’s called Skinner?’

‘Fear is a potent weapon, Malle.’ Malle looked at the empty throne next to her, and sighed. ‘I know this. But it can fuel hate,’ her narrowed gaze slid over to the mage, ‘which is far stronger.’

‘Captain!’ he called after her, and she turned. ‘Leave them be. Do not disturb them.’ ‘Really, sir? But don’t you think – that is, it would be disrespectful not to give them the proper rites.’ ‘I am giving them their proper rites, captain. Leave them to lie together, shoulder to shoulder. It’s what they marched out here for.’

She smiled in answer. ‘They like you, so you’ve earned a name. Sort of a title.’ ‘What is it?’ ‘Greymane.’

demanding an account of every scrap of eldritch worship or rite that Heboric had ever come across – which was extensive, as he considered himself something of a historian of the field.

Dancer studied him for a time: chin in fists and elbows on the desk, he looked like a sulking child. Yet Dancer knew this was much worse – the mood was one of those black pools of melancholia that could swallow a man. It was strange; the fellow could be so driven at times, yet one setback and he was utterly dejected.

Kellanved stepped forward, shaking his head as if disappointed. ‘This confrontation is very ill-advised. You really should capitulate.’

The Army of Bone was of the Imass, yes?

Honest travellers, however, were not the only ones on the plains. Exiles, outcasts and other such criminals also haunted its hills. Early on, one such gang had chanced upon her trail. A young woman alone – they thought they’d found easy prey. The moment the party closed upon the cart her companions tore their faces off and ate their viscera.

The mage lowered his gaze and fiddled with his walking stick. ‘Well, I may have let them know about Jadeen, and—’ ‘You sicked them on Jadeen!’ The mock-elderly Dal Hon winced, his greying brows crimping. ‘Not exactly – well, sort of. Kind of. I guess. Yes.’

‘Pick an easier target! Let them taste some blood – that was the deal, yes?’ Kellanved huffed. ‘I do not need help with easier targets, thank you very much.’ ‘Whatever. You know what I mean. Throw them a bone.’ The little mage shot Dancer a glance. His mouth quivered. Dancer suppressed a snort, and they both broke out laughing. Kellanved poked Dancer with his walking stick. ‘That was a good one. I liked that one.’

‘Do not pretend that knowledge is neutral. It can be dangerous.’ ‘And ignorance isn’t?’

For there, across the cavern, against a wall of natural stone, sat an object that could only be the throne of the Army of Bone. It was assembled from gigantic antlers and tusks of bygone beasts; leather straps wove the pieces together, forming a seat of sorts. Natural precious stones glinted upon it, as did shells and beads, and rotting animal furs lay heaped about, some obviously taken from huge animals of legend, such as the cave bear, or the great-toothed cat.

‘You were always my favourite, Possom.’

Or was it a sign that she was now officially one of the veterans, despite her tender years? Yes, tender, she reaffirmed to herself, dammit!

‘Behold,’ Jadeen announced, ‘the army of the ancient T’lan Imass.’

‘We are the Logros T’lan Imass, tasked with the guardianship of the throne. I am Tem Benasto, Bonecaster.’ Gesturing to each, Tem introduced ‘Ulpan Nodosha, Tenag Ilbaie, Ay Estos, and Onos T’oolan’.

Kellanved moved, and the five Imass watched, silent and immobile, as he turned and eased his bum down on the leather cradle of the throne’s seat.

Outside, in the howling contrary winds, the mage paused for a time, peering out at the long stretch of the headland where it extended straight out to the choppy iron-grey sea, which itself stretched on to the cloud-choked horizon. ‘Such a feature could be called a “reach”,’ the mage mused aloud. He squinted to Dancer. ‘And such a portentous and important place ought to have an equally portentous and weighty name – do you not think so?’ Dancer eyed him, suspicious. ‘What do you … No. You can’t … you didn’t!’ The mage gave a distorted twitch that might have been an attempt at a wink. ‘’Tis done, my friend.’

Dancer and Kellanved eyed one another, uncertain, then made their way up to it and the mage used his walking stick to edge aside a flap. Within, it was unnaturally gloomy, given the bright sunshine outside – hazy with hanging smoke, and uncomfortably hot as braziers of shimmering coals stood here and there about the interior. A hunched and broad shape, draped in rags, appeared to rise across the murkiness.

‘How do you propose—’ Kellanved began, and turned quickly. As he did so his walking stick struck the brazier, which fell, its coals scattering against the tent in a rain of embers. ‘Oh dear,’ he murmured. ‘You fool!’ their host snarled. ‘What have you done?’ The sun-dried canvas burst afire. ‘Apologies.’ Kellanved thrust a handful of nearby furs on to it, which themselves immediately roared into flame. The bent rag-wrapped figure waved his arms in a panic, backing away. ‘You idiot! You utter complete imbecile!’ He pointed at Kellanved. ‘I will cast you so far afield for this you shall never be seen again!’

‘Where is Tocaras, anyway?’ ‘Mainland. He proposed some kind of mission to Surly and went.’ Urko nodded. ‘Hunh. Never was comfortable at sea. Born on the mainland, right?’ ‘Yeah. His family’s related – but we’re all related here, hey? Damned small island. Anyway, a trade delegation, I believe. He’s half Napan.’

Dujek gestured to Jack. ‘The lad here has a far better head than most for runnin’ things, so has pretty much been doin’ all the work without the rank. So, I request he formally has command.’ Cartheron studied the young officer, who in fact was no younger than many of them – he just had kept his youthful looks for longer. He was even trying to grow a beard, perhaps to compensate. He nodded. ‘I’ll draw the papers up tomorrow. Congratulations, Jack. You’re now command rank.’

A young servitor came to the table and Cartheron asked, ‘What would you like to celebrate, Jack?’ ‘Whisky.’ Cartheron raised a brow. ‘Well, well. Whisky, Jack?’ Then he slapped a hand to the table. ‘That’s it. Whiskyjack – the cunning bird. There you go.’ Urko’s forehead furrowed. ‘What?’ Cartheron pointed to the thin ropy fellow. ‘His name. Whiskyjack.’

‘We make room,’ this one said – the commander. ‘But if you lie we cut off arm and cook then eat before you. Then next arm. Then leg. You understand?’

The Moranth commander paused, peering down at the mage. ‘My name? If changed to your language? Would be Twist.’

The servants were dressing him now, pulling on a new brushed-cotton shirt. He thrust a finger into the air. ‘I shall loose the Hounds upon Cawn.’ Cartheron gaped openly, and only barely stopped himself from blurting aloud, What? Dancer started from the wall, obviously quite alarmed. ‘You can’t do that,’ he said. The mage’s tiny eyes darted right and left. ‘Actually, I’m pretty certain I can.’

She had used to esteem her native nation as the most civilized people on the continent of Quon Tali, but now, seeing the poor being kicked aside in the streets, the contempt of the privileged for the oppressed, and the constant naked pursuit of the god of greasy gold, she wondered.

It occurred to him that half these messengers attending Kellanved were probably Surly’s Claws in disguise, but this did not worry him overmuch as he knew he had Talons working among her own that even she knew nothing of.

Terath shook her head again, and weakly motioned Jeral closer. The prevost lowered her head, and her brows rose in astonishment as Terath planted her mouth on hers. ‘Always loved those … braids,’ Terath whispered, and her head fell back.