Orb Sceptre Throne, page 31
The creatures faced the shallow waves, perhaps waiting for something, or someone. Kiska shaded her gaze into the blinding brightness, but saw nothing.
‘Anything?’ she asked Leoman.
The man shook his head, his eyes slitted against the glare. ‘We’ll wait.’ He sat down, his back to the rocks, and stretched his legs out before him. ‘Kiska,’ he began after a time, tentatively, ‘if he wanted to return … don’t you think—’
‘Quiet,’ she hissed, not even glancing down.
She heard him shift impatiently, exhale his irritation, then ease into a reluctant silence. She kept watch. He had to be out there. Why else would these outcasts be waiting?
Eventually, after staring into the stabbing brilliance, her eyes came to water so furiously she couldn’t see anything at all and she had to cuff Leoman to signal him to take over. She sat down blinking and rubbing her gritty eyes. Please all the gods come and gone, let this be it.
After a time there came a tap on her shoulder. ‘Movement.’ She leapt up – the hand on her shoulder pressed her back down. ‘Let’s wait and see, shall we?’
Crouched, she scanned the expanse of scintillating shimmering glare. At first she saw nothing: the stunning intensity of the sea of brightness blinded her to all else. ‘On the left,’ Leoman murmured. She edged her gaze aside, shaded her eyes. Movement there: a shadowy flickering among the silver-bright waves. A shape approaching like a dark flame almost lost amid all that brightness.
Over time the figure resolved itself into a tall man pushing his way to shore through the knee-high waves of liquid Vitr. Kiska surged to her feet. ‘It’s him!’
‘We don’t know …’ Leoman began, then some instinct made him throw himself round hands going to the morningstars at his sides, and at the same time someone else spoke.
‘Yes. I do believe it is he.’
The hair on Kiska’s head actually rose. I know that voice! Slowly, dreading what she would find, she willed herself to turn round. There stood a haggard battered man in torn robes, his face scalded livid red and swollen. The Seven Cities mage and holy Faladan, Yathengar.
Ye gods – he was supposed to have been destroyed by the Liosan! How could he still live? The man who summoned the Chaos Whorl to avenge himself against the Malazan Empire and in the end consuming him and Tayschrenn, flinging them both to this edge of creation. ‘You live!’ she gasped in shocked disbelief.
The rabid gaze swung to her. ‘So I wished you to never suspect. Ingrates! Did you not consider that I could follow where you—’
Leoman leapt upon him, his morningstars keening, only to fly aside, the weapons clashing together about his head. Kiska lunged as well, stave flashing in a thrust, but Yathengar merely tilted his head and the weapon flashed searingly hot and she cast it away yelling her agony. Hands useless, she spun a backward kick. Her foot rebounded from the man’s torso, which seemed as hard as oak. He scowled his irritation, gesturing, and a vice-grip took her at the neck to lift her from the ground. He gestured with his other hand and Leoman lurched upright. The morningstars hung wrapped about his neck.
Starting forward, Yathengar marched the two of them along, each fighting for breath. ‘Let us go and say hello to our old friend, shall we? I’m sure he will be very pleased to see the two of you.’
They descended the rocks. Kiska fought to yell a warning. Leoman’s face darkened alarmingly, the veins at his neck swelling. At the shore the pressure eased off a touch. Perhaps Yathengar was worried they would expire before he could torment them any further. However, the grip at Kiska’s throat was still too fierce for any shout. The shambling creatures caught sight of them and scattered gabbling their panic and terror. Kiska had no time for them: her gaze was fixed upon the slim man slowly advancing through the last of the shallow surf.
It was Tayschrenn, former High Mage of the Malazan Empire.
He’d changed, of course, as would be expected of anyone who had endured the passage he had experienced. His hair was now almost entirely grey, and short, as if growing out from having been shaved, or burned off. He’d lost weight. A simple shirt was loose upon him, hanging down over ragged trousers. Oddly he wasn’t wet. The glimmering Vitr merely ran from him in beads, like quicksilver.
But what troubled her was his expression: it was all open puzzlement. Not one hint of recognition touched his night-dark eyes.
‘Tayschrenn! You have eluded me for the last time,’ Yathengar called out.
The lean aristocratic head tilted to one side, apparently bewildered. ‘You are from my past then, are you?’
‘He is your enemy!’ Kiska managed to grind out, feeling as if her throat were tearing.
Snarling, Yathengar threw her and Leoman down, punching them into the sands.
‘So … I had enemies,’ Tayschrenn said, speaking almost to himself.
‘Do not take me for a fool! No play-acting will help you now.’
‘You are harming those two.’
‘This is as nothing compared to what I will do to you.’
‘What will you—’
But Yathengar had had enough of talk. He thrust with both hands. A storm of roaring energies engulfed Tayschrenn, who fell back into the Vitr bellowing his pain. In the sands Kiska struggled to draw her long-knife.
Yet the smoking blackened figure that was Tayschrenn arose from the Vitr. ‘Why …’ He spat aside through blistered bleeding lips.
A howl of rage took everyone by surprise and Kiska snapped her head round to glimpse the giant demon launching itself upon Yathengar. An eruption of puissance threw the fearsome entity to the ground where it lay groaning, the fur on its armoured torso smoking.
‘So …’ said Tayschrenn, agony making his voice faint, ‘you are a mage.’
Yathengar scowled, disbelief obvious on his ravaged face. ‘What is this … ?’
Tayschrenn advanced a step. ‘Then you are my enemy …’
The mage’s hands fell, so startled was he by the statement. Tayschrenn lunged at him just as his huge friend had. This time the Seven Cities mage was too slow to react and the two went down grappling.
Kiska could only stare, baffled. What was he doing? Fighting? Why didn’t he just …
Then she realized – the man must have forgotten everything about his prior life. Everything. Perhaps he no longer even knew how to channel power. Gods! How could he defeat this madman? By punching him?
Perhaps strengthened by his insanity, Yathengar managed to raise his hands. Power rippled there, sizzling in Tayschrenn’s grip. At the same time the fist at Kiska’s throat eased and she sat up, drawing her knife. Leoman also rose. The morningstars hissed to life in his hands. But neither dared strike while the two mages squirmed in the sands.
Then Kiska realized even more. ‘The Vitr!’ she shouted to Tayschrenn. ‘He hasn’t touched the Vitr!’
Understanding, Tayschrenn heaved himself to one side. The two struggled while power lashed, searing the flesh of the ex-High Mage’s arms. They rolled into the thin anaemic surf. Tayschrenn fought to press Yathengar down while the mage wrestled to free his arms. Finally Tayschrenn managed to force the man into the wash.
Immediately, the silvery liquid burst into foaming hissing froth. Yathengar howled, jerking free of Tayschrenn. He lunged for the dry shore; the former High Mage yanked him back by his robes. Leoman saw an opening and moved to close, but Kiska shouted a warning. Leoman leapt back but not fast enough, and his sandals smoked. He dug his feet into the sands, almost dancing in panic.
Meanwhile Yathengar had fallen again into the Vitr and now writhed screaming and flailing. Tayschrenn grimly took hold of a leg to drag him further out. The writhing and screaming went on for a long time. The great demon arose, groggy, to stand to one side, and Kiska stood panting, shuddering with suppressed energy. The continuous distant shrieks and hoarse pleading mixed with vile threats made her wince. She sat heavily in the sands and Leoman joined her.
They had found Tayschrenn. Succeeded in an apparently impossible task. Followed him through the Whorl to the very edge of existence. And now he did not even recognize them.
Eventually, the tall figure re-emerged from the glare of the Vitr. Kiska climbed to her feet. The man favoured her and Leoman with a harsh, unforgiving gaze. Kiska couldn’t trust herself to speak; she was afraid that anything she might say would be wrong. ‘So,’ he began at last, musing, ‘you are from my past.’
Kiska swallowed to wet her throat, managed a faint, ‘Yes.’ Then, stronger, ‘You are needed—’She stopped as he raised a hand to silence her. He examined that hand, and the other, turning them over before his face. Kiska noted that his flesh was healed. The Vitr appeared to have somehow restored him.
He continued to study his hands, flexing them. ‘And I take it that I, too, was a mage.’
‘Yes,’ Kiska breathed, knowing that she could not lie.
Leoman, to his credit, remained silent, his narrowed dark eyes travelling between them, observing, gauging. The demon was also silent, watching, its great taloned hands clenched, the lenses of its bulbous eyes flashing as it blinked.
At Kiska’s whispered yes the man shuddered as if struck. His eyes squeezed shut and his hands fisted rigid, then fell to his sides. He exhaled through clenched teeth, made a sweeping gesture with one hand as if cutting the air between them. ‘Well, you can keep that past. I want nothing to do with it.’ He motioned to the demon. ‘Come, Korus. We have work to do.’
Kiska could not read the demon’s alien face but the massive tangle of fangs at its mouth seemed to curve in a grin of triumph.
‘But Tayschrenn!’
The man paused. He turned back, his expression unchanged. ‘If that was my name it is no longer. You can keep it as well … and take it with you when you go.’
She could not think of anything more to say. The ex-High Mage walked away, trailed by the demon Korus. She turned to Leoman; the man gave a long slow shrug. ‘Kiska, I’m sorry …’
Snarling, she turned and stalked off along the shore. I’ve not come all this way …
The gentle metal jingling of Leoman’s armour announced his following. ‘Kiska, listen … you’ve done everything that could be expected. If he does not want to come then that is his choice …’
Kiska kept walking. I’ll convince him. He’s needed.
‘You may not believe me but I’ve been through something rather similar before.’
Did he really say that? She spun on her heel. ‘Yes – you’re right. I do not believe you’ve followed a quarry to the edge of creation only to have him walk away!’
Leoman gripped his belt in both hands, rocked ever so slightly under her glare. ‘I was bodyguard to Sha’ik. You know that.’
Her rage abated and she hesitated, interested despite her doubts. ‘Yes?’
His narrowed gaze was on the middle distance, perhaps unwilling to meet her eyes. ‘I was with the uprising from the start. Rose through the ranks to become her bodyguard. She dragged my partner and me out to the deep desert, claimed she was going to be reborn. She had her blasted Holy Book with her. She’d consulted it, the divinatory deck, the astrological signs, everything. All to be at the right place at the right time to be reborn …’
‘And?’ Kiska prompted.
‘The Malazans put a crossbow bolt through her head at that very moment.’
Queen preserve me ! She turned away, furious. ‘There is a point to this?’
Stung, his voice hardened. ‘The point is that what happened was not what I thought was supposed to happen – that’s the point!’
She stopped, glancing back. ‘But she was reborn …’
‘A – girl – showed up just then to take on the mantle. She became the new Sha’ik.
‘Ah-ha! So eventually you did succeed! Your determination paid off.’
‘No. Actually, that’s not my point at all. I was thinking more that we should strike inland, see what turns up.’
‘Well, I’m staying. His memory might return.’ She waved him away and walked on after Tayschrenn, yelling over her shoulder: ‘Did you think of that!’
Leoman stood kicking at the black sand. He sucked a breath in through his teeth. ‘Yes,’ he said, all alone. ‘I thought of that.’
After they left the temple quarters Malakai scouted ahead as usual. Antsy was content to let him range about as before. Frankly, part of him hoped he’d never return. Orchid was subdued. The lass had been handed a lot to think about. Corien was still weak and so he carried the dimmed lantern and the crossbow while Antsy led.
The way up was an ornate hall, or tunnel, broad and gently rising. More like a covered boulevard, with openings off it, perhaps shops or private dwellings. These chambers gaped empty, stripped of furnishings but for a litter of broken pots, trampled torn cloth, and shattered glass. The avenue opened to what appeared to be an open square, and beyond this, just hinted at by the weak lantern light, marched street after street of another underground city.
Shit. Now what? He turned to Orchid. ‘Which way?’
She was eyeing the buildings, her lower lip clenched in her teeth. Clearly, this was not what she’d been expecting.
‘Well?’
‘I don’t know. We should explore … I guess.’
‘Where is Malakai, I wonder?’ Corien murmured, keeping his voice down.
‘Exploring, I guess,’ Antsy said, rather more acidly than he’d intended. ‘C’mon. This way.’
He led them up a narrow alleyway where the tilt, or cant, of the entire structure was uncomfortably evident. Antsy had to push off occasionally from the right-leaning wall.
‘We should make for one edge of the town,’ Orchid finally announced, perhaps having regained her bearings.
‘Why?’ Antsy asked, and stopped for her answer. Both spoke in subdued tones, almost whispering; the quiet emptiness and gaping doorways seemed to demand a reverent, or at least sombre, response. Gone, the silent stone streets and alleys seemed to sigh. They are gone from us.
‘Because we’re under a kind of cave roof here, that’s why.’
Antsy couldn’t help glancing up into what was, for him, an impenetrable gloom. He grunted his understanding. ‘All right. This way.’ He headed in what he believed to be the right direction.
A short time later he felt it before he heard it: a massive shuddering that threw them all from side to side. They reached out to steady themselves on the walls. Stones fell all around them, shattering. Orchid let out a panicked cry. Wreckage within the buildings about them shifted and crashed anew. It felt like every earthquake Antsy had experienced – only in this case a Spawnquake.
Then, slowly, ponderously, the entire structure around them rolled slightly, forwards and backwards, like a titanic ship. They tottered and fought to keep their balance just as one would on any vessel. In the slow, almost gentle rocking Antsy thought he sensed a new equilibrium in the massive artefact’s balance. Thankfully a poise slightly closer to upright than before.
‘What is it?’ Orchid whispered, fierce.
‘I do believe we just lost a chunk of our island.’
‘Are we sinking?’ Corien asked, dread tightening his voice.
Antsy scratched the bristles of his untrimmed beard. ‘It’s possible … course, we might just rise some, too.’
‘Rise?’ Orchid scoffed. ‘How could that be possible?’
Antsy took a breath to explain but both had moved on, obviously uninterested in anything too technical. He cleared his throat, muttering, ‘Well – it’s just a theory.’
They came to where walls of stone bordered the town. Some sections of the rock had been left naked, others smoothed. Some bore mosaics depicting scenes of a great river of brightness running through darkness, others of an immense city of towers. Antsy wondered if such a city were somewhere within this gigantic mountain of stone. Tracing round the edge of the town they came to a set of three broad staircases leading upwards. A strong breeze blew into their faces down out of the shafts.
‘Definitely rising,’ Antsy said. Corien and Orchid just eyed one another, uncertain. Corien, Antsy saw, was walking more and more stiffly, grimacing with the effort, while Orchid looked bedraggled and exhausted. ‘We’ll rest here.’
Orchid was so worn out she merely gestured her acceptance and slumped down against a wall. Corien eased himself down with a hiss of pain. Antsy crouched to sort through their provisions. ‘How’re you holding up?’ he asked Corien, just to hold back the darkness and the unsettling, watchful silence.
‘Bed rest would have been better,’ he answered with a grin. ‘But I’m much improved. Thank you, Orchid.’
A non-committal murmur sounded from where she lay on her bedroll of cloaks and blankets. Antsy gnawed on some sort of dried meat, passed a waterskin to Corien. ‘I don’t know about you, lad, but my goals have experienced a major revision.’
The aristocratic youth’s answering grin was bright in the gloom. ‘Getting off alive would be a good start.’
‘Un-huh. I think we understand each other.’ Antsy hefted the waterskin, stoppered it. Too damned low. ‘You rest. I’ll take first watch.’
The lad nodded his gratitude and eased further down. Antsy pushed himself to his feet. He set the lamp in the middle of the alcove they’d chosen, then turned his back to the light to stare out into the dimly lit adjacent street and portals. He cradled his cocked crossbow in his arms. So many damned nights spent on sentry duty. Seems like nothin’s changed. Just the venue. Same ol’ same old. Still … there’s not many as can say they’ve wandered the bowels of the Moon’s Spawn. Thought I was gonna collect a retirement package but seems I’ve just bought myself a last hurrah.
Damned stupid waste. Looks like someone on this rock is gonna be cleaning his teeth with my bones.
An’ to think Blend and Picker were relieved to see me go! Not like there’s so many of us Bridgeburners left, is there? Even Ferret got a proper service and remembrance. Whiskeyjack took off his helmet and said a few words with Free Cities battle magics blastin’ overhead and two dragons circling. And it’s not like he was a popular guy.
