Orb Sceptre Throne (64 page)

‘And their literature and legends and mythology.’

‘That didn’t make you wonder?’

She cocked her head aside in the darkness, considering. ‘No. Should it have? I just thought it was normal. I thought everyone learned these things. There was nothing to compare it to. Now, I know that must have been a temple to Elder Dark.’ She shook her head, a regretful smile at her lips. ‘I’m not the first to discover that most of what I’ve been taught was either wrong, irrelevant, or insane.’

Antsy nodded at that.
Yeah. Parents and family work their craziness too. Gods, just look at Spindle
.

‘There’s more, of course,’ she continued, sounding puzzled. ‘Other strange things that I still can’t understand. I seem to remember …’ She shifted, uneasy.

‘You don’t have to go on,’ Antsy murmured, keeping his gaze fixed on the dark hall. ‘I understand. But maybe I can help you sort through it.’

She let out a steadying breath, her lips clenched, then nodded. ‘I had many teachers. They seemed to come and go.’

‘Uh-huh. And this is strange?’

‘Antsy … They were young when they came and when they left … they were old.’

He forced himself to swallow to wet his suddenly dry throat. ‘Ah. That is strange. You sure …?’

‘Yes. And I seem to remember it happening many times.’

Antsy let out a sound as if thinking that through.
Queen release me! When will I learn to keep my damned mouth shut?
‘Well … Andii are long-lived, right? There you go.’
Hood! This ‘child’ is probably more than twice my age! What’s she been learning all that time?
‘Listen. Maybe that’s enough for—’

The jarring clanging of metal on metal blasted through the Spawn’s steady background noise of groans and clatterings. Corien leapt to his feet. Shouts sounded up the hall and quite a few screams as well. A figure stepped into the hall, shouted: ‘C’mon, you lot! It’s the alarm. Let’s go!’

Their watcher
. Antsy nodded to Orchid. ‘Put a darkness here in the hall.’

She shut her eyes, murmuring, and all the faint glow of distant lights disappeared. The man peered about, panicked. ‘What in the Abyss …’

Antsy made for him. The fellow heard his approach and went for his sword but he was obviously blind, so Antsy kicked him in the groin then kneed him in the face, shattering the cartilage of his nose and possibly killing him. He took the man’s weapons while he lay stunned.

‘Which way?’ he called to Orchid. She pointed up the other way. He gave the sword to Corien, kept a fighting dirk. ‘I’ll lead. Corien, watch the rear.’

As they traced halls and turned corners, it came to him that Orchid was attempting to lead them round the settlement. He was happy with that because occasional blasts and screams reached them from whatever was going on over at one side of the complex. But as Orchid took longer and longer to choose directions the noise steadily became louder with each length of empty hall or chamber traversed and the yellow glow of lanterns and lamps thickened. By the time she came to a full halt in a narrow chamber whose only other exit was an open portal, he could make out the thumping release of crossbows, the ringing of iron from stone, shouts, and, above all, an argument of some sort between a high strident harridan’s voice and a much lower, deeper and fainter man’s voice.

‘This is not the way!’ the woman screeched.

‘Let us hear what our guide has to say,’ the man murmured.

‘Fire!’ a voice bellowed, Otan’s, then a volley of crossbows released, the bolts clattering from stone.

‘Aiya!’ the woman yelled. ‘Who are these wretches?’

‘Indigenes? Perhaps?’

‘Indigenes? Are you brainless? These are not Andii!’

‘Yet strictly speaking … are they not the new residents here?’

What in the name of Oponn …?
Antsy edged forward to peer round the lip of the opening.
What was this?
The portal gave access to a large hall, what seemed a main boulevard faced by many building fronts carved from the stone of the Spawn. Bodies lay scattered among wreckage across the floor. Lanterns lay fallen, spilled oil burning to send up clouds of black smoke that obscured the high ceiling.

Two figures faced each other in the centre of the hall. One, the old woman, wore an eye-watering costume of all shades of red, complete with a headdress of fluttering crimson ribbons, and what appeared to be carmine gloves on her hands. The other was a short round ball of a man, bland-faced, in layered dark robes, his hands clasped across his broad front as if to hold it in from bursting.

So amazed by these two was Antsy that he failed to notice a third figure scuttling up the hall. The fellow was staring at him, his eyes huge and his mouth open in his own incredulity. ‘Kill that man!’ the skinny youth howled, pointing.

Antsy flinched – and met the glaring eyes of the young thief from Hurly.
Great Burn! What was that fool’s name? Jallin! Yes, that’s right
.

The lad ran to the squabbling pair, still pointing. ‘Kill him, mistress!’

The woman took a swipe at him that he ducked. ‘Shut up, fool. Does the way go on?’

‘Yes,’ the youth snarled.

Armour clattering announced another file of crossbowmen led by Otan crossing the hall.

Gotta give the man credit for guts
.

‘Hesta …’ the fat man murmured.

The woman threw her hands in the air. ‘Oh, cursed gods above!
More
of them?’

She lowered her arms, palms out. Orchid yanked on the back of Antsy’s armour. ‘Down!’ she hissed. Like an upended forge, flames came billowing up the wide boulevard. Men and women screamed, reduced to dark shapes consumed by the churning yellow and orange.

A furnace’s searing heat crackled at Antsy’s arms, which he had thrown up to protect his head, and then with a redoubled avalanche roar the radiance disappeared, leaving him blinking, momentarily blinded. The cackle of the youth sounded in the sudden silence, followed by a slap that cut it off. ‘Show us!’ the woman commanded.

‘Perhaps they merely wished to talk,’ the man’s voice reached them, retreating.

‘Oh, shut up!’

Antsy dared raise his head. Flames lit a scene out of Hood’s own realm. Burning corpses and furnishings sent smoke curling up into the thickening miasma choking the air. He didn’t like the way it just hung there.
No outlet
.

Orchid was crushing the burnt ends of her frazzled hair. ‘I’m sorry, Antsy,’ she said, sounding miserable.

‘Sorry for what?’

She raised her soot-smeared chin to the boulevard. ‘That’s the way up.’

Somehow I knew she was going to say that
.

Bendan gave his name to everyone in the Malazan camp as ‘Butcher’. His own squad didn’t use it any more now that they’d reached the main rendezvous south-west of Dhavran. They’d used it for a while after that last engagement and during the march, and it had been among the happiest times of his life. It even rivalled the feeling of belonging and safety he’d known among his peers in the mud ways and alleys of Maiten town. He’d revelled in it those few years alongside his brothers and sisters, jumping rival gangs and cleaning out anyone not a local and foolish enough to wander into their territory. He’d felt untouchable then, utterly secure. Wanted and appreciated. Valued, even, it seemed to him now, looking back. He’d gone from worthless to valued. When they’d all been together on the street they could stomp on anyone’s face and no one dared say anything! He remembered how Biter and Short Legs had held one kid down and invited him to lay in. And he’d kicked and kicked on and on until the kid coughed up an explosion of blood and never moved any more. How they’d all laughed! Good times then.

Now when I say ‘Butcher’s the name’ I just get funny looks. Even outright laughs. What’s wrong with everyone? There’s a guy in the 10th named ‘Rabbit.’ What kinda name’s that for a soldier?

His squad spent the days digging a big-arse ditch to surround the new fort. Other squads were dragging logs from the nearest woods, raising a palisade. It was a damned crowded camp: all the remnants of the Second, Fifth and Sixth from Pale all jammed together on one round hilltop surrounded by a deep ditch that put the top of the palisade logs a good three man-heights above the head of any attacker. And on top of that Fist Steppen had them sharpening a forest of stakes to set leaning out like the quills on one of them mythical spiny lizards.

It was gettin’ so troops were starting to call her ‘Scaredy-Step’. Bendan just called her a dumb-arse granma hiding behind her walls when everyone knew the way to win was to go break heads. He had said as much to his squaddies and Corporal Little had come back with some watery talk about how winning was control of ground, not battles. Ground? He understood that. In Maiten town he and his brothers and sisters had had theirs – and defending it meant fighting! You had to be out there every day showing those rivals you were strong and so crazy-arse violent they’d better leave you alone. That he knew and understood.

Then Corporal Little had said something really loopy. She said that the best way to win was
not to have to fight at all!
How the fuck was that possible? You had to fight to win. You had to tear the head off the other guy – otherwise it was you without a head! He was starting to suspect that maybe Little was some kinda gutless woman hiding behind her fancy book-learned ideas.

Not to mention how she slapped his hand away when he grabbed her tit. Imagine that? Turning him down? Back in Maiten town every girl he cornered went along with it in the end. All it took was a little playful arm-twisting – not like he was gonna
really
hurt them. This corporal must prefer women, not like a proper gal at all.

Then orders came for a march west. Minimal gear. The squads formed up, including his, thank the gods! And they were off even though it was near dusk. Rumours flew up and down the column as they trotted along. Some of theirs under attack, apparently.

They jogged through half the night until they came over the rise of a gentle valley slope and there before them, under the bright starlight and emerald glare of the Scimitar, churned a horde of horsemen all circling a dark knot.

Sergeant Hektar slapped him on the back as they headed down without a pause. ‘Now
there’s
action, hey, Butcher?’

‘But look how fucking many there are!’

The big black fellow made a face. ‘Naw – that’s just an advance force. Just a few thousand. Enough for you to butcher, hey?’

‘Well … yeah,’ he answered as they picked up their pace.
I suppose so … but why? Just to rescue a few troopers stupid enough to get caught out in the open? What a dumb waste
.

‘Ready shields!’ came the order.

Bendan struggled with his big rectangular burden as he trotted along.

‘Form square!’

The column thickened and slowed to a steady march. And just in time, as elements of the cavalry swung off to encircle them.

‘Halt!’

Once the manoeuvring was done Bendan’s squad was far back from the front rank. They would wait for their turn to cycle through to the shield wall. Dust blew up, obscuring his view beyond the square. Riders, men and women – Rhivi, he recognized – circled them, firing their short-bows and hurling javelins.

What’s gotten them all riled up?

Then the frantic call came: ‘Merge! Merge!’ and the square shuddered, shields scraping shields. Everyone shifted position as men and women came surging into the centre, many supporting others or even carrying them over their backs. All grimed and dirt-smeared, battered, and gulping down air.

Useless bastards. Gonna get killed ’cause of you. Hope you’re happy
.

Being near the centre he saw the captain commanding the column salute some beat-up burly fellow and heads around him craned, gawking, and people whispered: ‘K’ess.’

‘So who’s this K’ess?’ he asked Bone next to him.

The man gave him one of those funny looks as he struggled to keep his shield overhead. ‘Served on Onearm’s staff. Put in charge of Pale when the Host headed south. Now he’s in charge of this whole mess. Other than the Ambassador, o’ course.’

Shit! And we had to rescue
him
? Piss-poor start if you ask me
.

Orders to reverse sounded and they turned to face the way they’d come. Then started the inevitable grinding march back. Bendan’s squad cycled through to a turn in the shield wall. The Rhivi circled past, whooping and shouting and throwing their slim javelins. He watched from over the lip of his shield, fuming. ‘Why don’t the order come to rush ’em?’ he demanded. ‘We’re just hidin’ here behind our shields like cowards!’