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He was simply telling me to be careful in your company—as if I didn’t already know that. You are Hood’s own lodestone—to your enemies, that is.
‘Enough words, Torvald Nom. I do not intend to attack Keeper. His vision troubles me, that is all. For I have shared it, in my dreams. Now you understand why I must seek out the truth.’
‘Keeper spoke the truth when he said I am dangerous to be around, Torvald Nom. And that danger is likely to increase. I will join you on the journey to Ehrlitan. Then, I will see to it that you find a ship, so that you may return to your family. When this is done, we shall part ways. I shall, however, keep the truth of your friendship with me.’
On the ship, when I hung in chains from the mast, you were my only hold on this world. Without you and your endless words, Torvald Nom, the madness I had feigned would have become a madness in truth. I was a Teblor warleader. I was needed, but I myself did not need. I had followers, but not allies, and only now do I understand the difference. And it is vast.
When I return on my old path, back into the lands of the Teblor, there are wounds that I shall need to mend. And so, when you say it is time to return to your family, Torvald Nom, I understand and my heart is gladdened.’
A life of anonymity doesn’t come as cheap as you’d imagine. I emptied half of Aren’s treasury a day before my tragic drowning. Now, you might manage to kill me and try to find it, but it’d be hopeless. So thank me for my generosity and get on your way.’ ‘One day,’ Karsa said, ‘I shall return here and repay you.’ ‘For the coin or the broken ribs?’ The Teblor simply smiled.
‘The Malazan soldiers in Genabaris said the Seven Cities was going to rebel against their occupiers. This is why the Teblor do not make conquests. Better that the enemy keeps its land, so that we may raid again and again.’
‘Just so. There’s little value in seeking to find reasons for why people do what they do, or feel the way they feel. Hatred is a most pernicious weed, finding root in any kind of soil. It feeds on itself.’ ‘With words.’
Form an opinion, say it often enough and pretty soon everyone’s saying it right back at you, and then it becomes a conviction, fed by unreasoning anger and defended with weapons of fear. At which point, words become useless and you’re left with a fight to the death.’
The others closed in then, wielding their knouts—clubs made from black, braided hair—until Karsa fell senseless to the ground.
He thought back to Torvald Nom’s death. There was a coldness surrounding the memory, but he could sense all that it held at bay. The time for surrender, however, was not now.
‘We scrape a red powder from cliffsides to make our blood-oil,’ the Teblor murmured. ‘What is blood-oil?’ ‘We rub it into our swords, and into our armour. To bring on battle madness, we taste it.’ The stranger was silent for a moment, though Karsa could feel the man’s eyes on him. ‘And how well does magic work against you?’ ‘Those who attack me with sorcery usually reveal surprise on their faces…just before I kill them.’
‘Teblor? That is what you call yourselves? Teblor?’ After a moment, he leaned back again, and softly laughed.
He was wearing little more than rags. Lean and dark-skinned, his eyes were a startling light blue.
‘The brand makes your face look like it’s been shattered.’
Near the heavily fortified gate was a row of stocks, of which only two were occupied—Silgar and Damisk. On the slavemaster’s right ankle there glinted a copper-coloured ring.
The lowlanders filled this world like vermin—more tribes than the Teblor had thought possible, and it was clear that none liked each other. While that was a sentiment Karsa well understood—for tribes should dislike each other—it was also obvious that, among the lowlanders, there was no sense of any other sort of loyalty. Karsa was Uryd, but he was also Teblor. The lowlanders seemed so obsessed with their differences that they had no comprehension of what unified them. A flaw that could be exploited.
The Fenn had fallen far from their past glories, yet they remembered enough to know their old name. You cannot even make that claim. Your kind walked this earth when the T’lan Imass were still flesh. From your blood came the Barghast and the Trell. You are Thelomen Toblakai.’
it had damned near broken his heart to discard his old one, along with his tattered leather surcoat, and the sword-belt he’d stripped from a Falah’dan guard who no longer needed it. In fact, he had retained but one possession from his former life, buried down in the bottom of his kit bag in his berth below decks, and he had no intention of permitting its discovery by anyone.
Lieutenant Ranal embodied the worst of Malazan military command. Nobleborn, commission purchased in the city of Quon, arrogant and inflexible and righteous and yet to draw a sword in anger. A walking death sentence to his soldiers, and it was the Lord’s luck that Strings was one of those soldiers.
The lieutenant was a tall man, his Quon blood the purest it could be; fair-skinned, fair-haired, his cheekbones high and wide, his nose straight and long, his mouth full. Strings had hated him on sight.
Koryk.’ ‘What he’ll get is the bunch of us right here,’ the Seti half-blood replied, rolling his broad shoulders, strands of his long black hair whipping across his flat-featured face.
Thus far, the Red Blades were being treated as a company distinct from the Adjunct’s punitive army, despite the fact that there were few soldiers available with actual fighting experience…and even fewer with the backbone to put that experience to use.
He was unused to the embarrassment he felt, and recognized that the bluster he often displayed was nothing more than a knee-jerk reaction to his own sense of inadequacy. For the moment, however, he did not feel capable of managing even so much as diffidence, much less bluster.
The Empress had sent him and a hundred and seven of his ships to Seven Cities when the rumours of rebellion had reached fever pitch. Had the High Fist in Aren not effectively impounded that fleet in the harbour, Coltaine’s Chain of Dogs could have been prevented; indeed, the rebellion might well be over. Now, the task of reconquest promised to be a drawn-out, bloody endeavour. Whatever feelings the admiral might have regarding all that had occurred and all that was likely to come, he gave no outward indication, his expression remaining cold and impersonal.
As was her style, Tavore’s clothes were well made, but plain and virtually colourless. A match to her eyes, to the streaks of grey in her reddish, short-cropped hair, to her unyielding, unprepossessing features. She was tall, somewhat broad in the hips, her breasts slightly oversized for her frame. The otataral sword of her office was scabbarded at her belt—the only indication of her imperial title.
‘Three legions. The 8th, 9th and 10th. Fist Gamet shall command the 8th. Fist Blistig, the 9th, and Fist Tene Baralta, the 10th. The choice of officers under each respective command is at the discretion of each Fist.
Admiral Nok, detach Commander Alardis from your flagship. She is now in charge of the Aren Guard.’
‘As to the survivors of the Chain of Dogs and sundry unattached elements at our disposal, their units are now dissolved. They have been reassigned an...
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Blistig disobeyed a High Fist’s order. He stands before me, his new commander, and believes I hold no faith in him. From that, he concludes that it would be best for everyone concerned if I were to send him to Unta, to face the Empress.’
‘You think I wish you to tell him something from me? Very well. He may have Captain Keneb.’
Temul’s war gear was immaculate, as was the mask of deep red face paint denoting his grief, and his dark eyes glittered like sharp stones as he drew himself to attention before the Adjunct.
‘When Coltaine sent you with the historian Duiker, did he attach warlocks to your company at that time?’ Temul’s eyes flicked to Nil and Nether for a moment, then his head jerked in a nod. ‘Yes.’ ‘And has your company been officially dissolved, Temul?’ ‘No.’
‘In other words, Coltaine’s last command to you still obtains.’ She addressed Nil and Nether once more. ‘Your request is denied. I have need of both you and Captain Temul’s Wickan lancers.’
‘Adjunct, my company wishes to fight. Are we to be attached to the legions?’ Tavore tilted her head. ‘Captain Temul, how many summers have you seen?’ ‘Fourteen.’ The Adjunct nodded. ‘At present, Captain, our mounted troops are limited to a company of Seti volunteers, five hundred in all. In military terms, they are light cavalry at best, scouts and outriders at worst. None have seen battle, and none are much older than you. Your own command consists of forty Wickans, all but four younger than you. For our march northward, Captain Temul, your company will be attached to my entourage. As
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‘Coltaine’s tactics—’ ‘This is no longer Coltaine’s war,’ Tavore snapped.
Tene Baralta likely expected to retain his Red Blades as a discrete regiment. I doubt he has much interest in commanding four thousand Malazan recruits.’
‘Why, do you think, did he not simply usurp High Fist Pormqual? Why did he permit the annihilation of Coltaine and the Seventh, then of the High Fist’s own army?’ Gamet could only shake his head. Tavore studied him for another half-dozen heartbeats, then slowly made her way to the scrolls lying on the tabletop. She drew one out and removed its ties. ‘The Empress never had cause to question Admiral Nok’s loyalty.’ ‘Nor Dujek Onearm’s,’ Gamet muttered under
The smaller door opened, and the Fist turned to see a tall, almost effeminate man, clothed in grey, a placid smile on his handsome features as he took a step into the chamber. An armoured woman followed—an officer of the Red Blades. Her skin was dark and tattooed in Pardu style, her eyes black and large, set wide above high cheekbones, her nose narrow and aquiline.
‘Claw, how fares the Talon?’
‘They remain,’ Pearl muttered, distaste twisting his features. ‘Like bot-fly larvae beneath the imperial hide. When we probe, they simply dig deeper.’ ‘They none the less serve a certain…function,’ Tavore said. ‘Unfortunately, not as competently as I would have hoped.’ ‘The Talons have found support among the nobility?’ Pearl asked, a sheen of sweat now visible on his high brow.
‘Pearl. Captain Lostara Yil. Find Felisin. Find my sister.’
‘The Empress is displeased.’ ‘Behind the rot of the imperial army’s incompetent command, you will find the face of the nobility.’ ‘The purchase of commissions is a plague threatening the entire empire. Is it any wonder the Empress is displeased?’
A company of Red Blades had arrived from Seven Cities. Cruel killers, incorruptible and far removed from the poison of noble coin. It was not difficult to imagine the reason behind their appearance.
The first wave of arrests had been precise, almost understated. Squads in the dead of night. There had been no skirmishes with house guards, no estates forewarned to purchase time to raise barricades, or even flee the city. And Gamet thought he knew how such a thing came t...
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‘No harm is to come to her,’ the man went on after a moment. ‘Provided I have your full co-operation. But we are running out of time.’ ‘This is Tavore’s answer? What of her parents? There was nothing to suggest that their fate would be any different from that of the others who’d been rounded up.’ ‘Alas, the Adjunct’s options are limited. She is under some…scrutiny.’ ‘What is planned for Felisin, Kollen—or whoever you are?’ ‘A brief stint in the otataral mines—’ ‘What!?’ ‘She will not be entirely alone. A guardian will accompany her. Understand, Captain, it is this, or the mob outside.’
‘I am not a Claw, Captain. As for harm coming to Felisin, I regret to say that there will be some. It cannot be helped. We must hope she is resilient—it is a Paran trait, yes?’
I am to ask that you now escort me to a safe house. At all costs, we must not permit the child to fall into the mob’s hands. Can I rely upon your help in this, Captain?’ ‘Where is this safe house?’ ‘On the Avenue of Souls…’ Gamet grimaced. Judgement’s Round. To the chains. Oh, Beru guard you, lass. He strode past Kollen. ‘I will awaken her.’
Almost as if they were receiving help—but who? we wondered. Oh, absurd rumours of the return of the Talons persisted.
Tavore is of noble blood, and it’s now clear that a truly covert element of Talons has returned to plague us, and has been making use of the nobility. Placing sympathetic agents in the military and administration—a mutually profitable infiltration. But Tavore is now the Adjunct, and as such, her old ties, her old loyalties, must needs be severed.’
