Gardens of the Moon

  Better, I think, to offer the readers a quick decision on this series – right there in the first third of the first novel, than to tease them on for five or six books before they turn away in disgust, disinterest or whatever. Maybe, from a marketing position, the latter is preferred – at least in the short term. But, thank God, my publishers know a false economy when they see one.

  Gardens of the Moon is an invitation, then. Stay with it, and come along for the ride. I can only promise that I have done my best to entertain. Curses and cheers, laughter and tears, it's all in here.

  One last word to all you nascent writers out there. Ambition is not a dirty word. Piss on compromise. Go for the throat. Write with balls, write with eggs. Sure, it's a harder journey but take it from me, it's well worth it.

  Cheers,

  Steven Erikson

  Victoria, British Columbia

  December 2007

  DRAMATIS PERSONAE

  THE MALAZAN EMPIRE

  ONEARM'S HOST

  Tattersail, Cadre Sorceress, 2nd Army, a reader of the Deck

  of Dragons

  Hairlock, Cadre Mage, 2nd Army, an unpleasant rival of

  Tayschrenn

  Calot, Cadre Mage, 2nd Army, Tattersail's lover

  Toc the Younger, scout, 2nd Army, a Claw agent badly

  scarred at the Siege of Pale

  THE BRIDGEBURNERS

  Sergeant Whiskeyjack, 9th Squad, past commander of the

  2nd Army

  Corporal Kalam, 9th Squad, an ex-Claw from Seven Cities

  Quick Ben, 9th Squad, a Seven Cities Mage

  Sorry, 9th Squad, a deadly killer in the guise of a young girl

  Hedge, 9th Squad, a sapper

  Fiddler, 9th Squad, a sapper

  Trotts, 9th Squad, a Barghast warrior

  Mallet, 9th Squad, the squad healer

  Sergeant Antsy, 7th Squad

  Picker, 7th Squad

  THE IMPERIAL COMMAND

  Ganoes Stabro Paran, a noble-born officer in the Malazan Empire

  Dujek Onearm, High Fist, Malazan Armies, Genabackis

  Campaign

  Tayschrenn, High Mage to the Empress

  Bellurdan, High Mage to the Empress

  Nightchill, High Sorceress to the Empress

  A'Karonys, High Mage to the Empress

  Lorn, Adjunct to the Empress

  Topper, Commander of the Claw

  Empress Laseen, Ruler of the Malazan Empire

  HOUSE PARAN (UNTA)

  Tavore, Ganoes' sister (middle-child)

  Felisin, Ganoes' youngest sister

  Garnet, House Guard and veteran

  IN THE EMPEROR'S TIME

  Emperor Kellanved, the founder of the Empire, assassinated

  by Laseen

  Dancer, the Emperor's chief adviser, assassinated by Laseen

  Surly, Laseen's old name when Commander of the Claw

  Dassem Ultor, the First Sword of Empire, killed outside

  Y'ghatan, Seven Cities

  Toc (the Elder), disappeared in Laseen's purges of the Old

  Guard

  IN DARUJISTAN

  The Phoenix Inn Regulars

  Kruppe, a man of false modesty

  Crokus Younghand, a young thief

  Rallick Nom, an assassin in the Guild

  Murillio, a courtier

  Coll, a drunk

  Meese, a regular

  Irilta, a regular

  Scurve, the barman

  Sulty, a serving woman

  Chert, an unlucky bully

  The T'orrud Cabal

  Baruk, a High Alchemist

  Derudan, a Witch of Tennes

  Mammot, a High Priest of D'riss and eminent scholar, uncle

  to Crokus

  Travale, a pious soldier of the Cabal

  Tholis, a High Mage

  Parald, a High Mage

  The Council

  Turban Orr, a powerful councilman and Simtal's lover

  Lim, an ally of Turban Orr

  Simtal, Lady of Simtal Estate

  Estraysian D'Arle, a rival of Turban Orr

  Challice D'Arle, his daughter

  The Guild of Assassins

  Vorcan, Mistress of the Guild (also known as the Master of

  Assassins)

  Ocelot, Rallick Nom's Clan Leader

  Talo Krafar, an assassin of Jurrig Denatte's Clan

  Krute of Talient, an agent of the Guild

  Also in the city:

  The Eel, a rumoured master-spy

  Circle Breaker, an agent of the Eel

  Vildrom, a city guard

  Captain Stillis, Captain of Guard, Simtal Estate

  Further players:

  The Tiste Andii

  Anomander Rake, Lord of Moon's Spawn, Son of Darkness,

  Knight of Darkness

  Serrat, second-in-command to Rake

  Korlat, a night-hunter and blood-kin to Serrat

  Orfantal, a night-hunter

  Horult, a night-hunter

  The T'lan Imass

  Logros, Commander of the T'lan Imass Clans serving the

  Malazan Empire

  Onos T'oolan, a clanless warrior

  Pran Chole, a Bonecaster (shaman) of the Kron T'lan Imass

  Kig Avert, a Clan Leader

  Others:

  Crone, a Great Raven and servant to Anomander Rake

  Silanah, an Eleint and companion to Anomander Rake

  Raest, a Jaghut Tyrant

  K'rul, an Elder God, the Maker of Paths

  Caladan Brood, the warlord, opposing the Malazan armies in

  the North Campaign

  Kallor, Brood's second-in-command

  Prince K'azz D'Avore, Commander of the Crimson Guard

  Jorrick Sharplance, a Crimson Guard officer

  Cowl, a High Mage in the Crimson Guard

  Corporal Blues, Sixth Blade of the Crimson Guard

  Fingers, Sixth Blade of the Crimson Guard

  The Hound Baran, a Hound of Shadow

  The Hound Blind, a Hound of Shadow

  The Hound Gear, a Hound of Shadow

  The Hound Rood, a Hound of Shadow

  The Hound Shan, a Hound of Shadow

  The Hound Doan, a Hound of Shadow

  The Hound Ganrod, a Hound of Shadow

  Shadowthrone/Ammanas, Ruler of the Warren of Shadow

  The Rope/Cotillion, Companion of Shadowthrone and

  Patron of Assassins

  Icarium, Builder of the Wheel of Ages in Darujhistan

  Mappo, Icarium's companion

  The Pannion Seer, a Prophet Tyrant ruling the Pannion

  Domin

  Gardens of the Moon

  Now these ashes have grown cold, we open the old book.

  These oil-stained pages recount the tales of the Fallen,

  a frayed empire, words without warmth. The hearth

  has ebbed, its gleam and life's sparks are but memories

  against dimming eyes – what cast my mind, what hue my

  thoughts as I open the Book of the Fallen

  and breathe deep the scent of history?

  Listen, then, to these words carried on that breath.

  These tales are the tales of us all, again yet again.

  We are history relived and that is aft, without end that is all.

  The Emperor is dead!

  So too his right hand – now cold, now severed!

  But mark these dying shadows,

  twinned and flowing bloody and beaten,

  down and away from mortal sight...

  From sceptre's rule dismissed,

  from gild candelabra the light now fled,

  from a hearth ringed in hard jewels,

  seven years this warmth has bled ...

  The Emperor is dead.

  So too his master'd companion, the rope cut clean.

  But mark this burgeoning return –

  faltering dark, the tattered shroud –

  embracing children in Emp
ire's dying light.

  Hear now the dirge faint reprised,

  before the sun's fall, this day spills red

  on buckled earth, and in obsidian eyes

  vengeance chimes seven times ...

  Call to Shadow (I.i. 1-18)

  Felisin(b.ll46)

  Prologue

  1154th Year of Burn's Sleep

  96th Year of the Malazan Empire

  The Last Year of Emperor Kellanved's Reign

  The stains of rust seemed to map blood seas on the black, pocked surface of Mock's Vane. A century old, it squatted on the point of an old pike that had been bolted to the outer top of the Hold's wall. Monstrous and misshapen, it had been cold-hammered into the form of a winged demon, teeth bared in a leering grin, and was tugged and buffeted in squealing protest with every gust of wind.

  The winds were contrary the day columns of smoke rose over the Mouse Quarter of Malaz City. The Vane's silence announced the sudden falling-off of the sea breeze that came clambering over the ragged walls of Mock's Hold, then it creaked back into life as the hot, spark-scattered and smoke-filled breath of the Mouse Quarter reached across the city to sweep the promontory's heights.

  Ganoes Stabro Paran of the House of Paran stood on tiptoe to see over the merlon. Behind him rose Mock's Hold, once capital of the Empire but now, since the mainland had been conquered, relegated once more to a Fist's holding. To his left rose the pike and its wayward trophy.

  For Ganoes, the ancient fortification overlooking the city was too familiar to be of interest. This visit was his third in as many years; he'd long ago explored the courtyard with its heaved cobblestones, the Old Keep – now a stable, its upper floor home to pigeons and swallows and bats – and the citadel where even now his father negotiated the island export tithe with the harbour officials. In the last instance, of course, a goodly portion was out of bounds, even for a son of a noble house; for it was in the citadel that the Fist had his residence, and in the inner chambers that such affairs of the Empire as concerned this island were conducted.

  Mock's Hold forgotten behind him, Ganoes' attention was on the tattered city below, and the riots that ran through its poorest quarter. Mock's Hold stood atop a cliff. The higher land of the Pinnacle was reached by a switchback staircase carved into the limestone of the cliff wall. The drop to the city below was eighty armspans or more, with the Hold's battered wall adding still another six. The Mouse was at the city's inland edge, an uneven spreading of hovels and overgrown tiers cut in half by the silt-heavy river that crawled towards the harbour. With most of Malaz City between Ganoes' position and the riots, it was hard to make out any detail, beyond the growing pillars of black smoke.

  It was midday, but the flash and thundering concussion of magery made the air seem dark and heavy.

  Armour clanking, a soldier appeared along the wall near him. The man leaned vambraced forearms on the battlement, the scabbard of his longsword scraping against the stones. 'Glad for your pure blood, eh?' he asked, grey eyes on the smouldering city below.

  The boy studied the soldier. He already knew the complete regimental accoutrements of the Imperial Army, and the man at his side was a commander in the Third – one of the Emperor's own, an elite. On his dark grey shoulder-cloak was a silver brooch: a bridge of stone, lit by ruby flames. A Bridgeburner.

  High-ranking soldiers and officials of the Empire commonly passed through Mock's Hold. The island of Malaz remained a vital port of call, especially now that the Korel wars to the south had begun. Ganoes had brushed shoulders with more than his share, here and in the capital, Unta.

  'Is it true, then?' Ganoes asked boldly.

  'Is what true?'

  'The First Sword of Empire. Dassem Ultor. We heard in the capital before we left. He's dead. Is it true? Is Dassem dead?'

  The man seemed to flinch, his gaze unwavering on the Mouse. 'Such is war,' he muttered, under his breath, as if the words were not meant for anyone else's ears.

  'You're with the Third. I thought the Third was with him, in Seven Cities. At Y'Ghatan—'

  'Hood's Breath, they're still looking for his body in the still-hot rubble of that damned city, and here you are, a merchant's son three thousand leagues from Seven Cities with information only a few are supposed to possess.' He still did not turn. 'I know not your sources, but take my advice and keep what you know to yourself.'

  Ganoes shrugged. 'It's said he betrayed a god.'

  Finally the man faced him. His face was scarred, and something that might have been a burn marred his jaw and left cheek. For all that, he looked young for a commander. 'Heed the lesson there, son.'

  'What lesson?'

  'Every decision you make can change the world. The best life is the one the gods don't notice. You want to live free, boy, live quietly.'

  'I want to be a soldier. A hero.'

  'You'll grow out of it.'

  Mock's Vane squealed as a wayward gust from the harbour cleared the grainy smoke. Ganoes could now smell rotting fish and the waterfront's stink of humanity.

  Another Bridgeburner, this one with a broken, scorched fiddle strapped to his back, came up to the commander. He was wiry and if anything younger – only a few years older than Ganoes himself, who was twelve. Strange pockmarks covered his face and the backs of his hands, and his armour was a mixture of foreign accoutrements over a threadbare, stained uniform. A shortsword hung in a cracked wooden scabbard at his hip. He leaned against the merlon beside the other man with the ease of long familiarity.

  'It's a bad smell when sorcerers panic,' the newcomer said. 'They're losing control down there. Hardly the need for a whole cadre of mages, just to sniff out a few wax-witches.'

  The commander sighed. 'Thought to wait to see if they'd rein themselves in.'

  The soldier grunted. 'They are all new, untested. This could scar some of them for ever. Besides,' he added, 'more than a few down there are following someone else's orders.'

  'A suspicion, no more.'

  'The proof's right there,' the other man said. 'In the Mouse.'

  'Perhaps.'

  'You're too protective,' the man said. 'Surly says it's your greatest weakness.'

  'Surly's the Emperor's concern, not mine.'

  A second grunt answered that. 'Maybe all of us before too long.'

  The commander was silent, slowly turning to study his companion.

  The man shrugged. 'Just a feeling. She's taking a new name, you know. Laseen.'

  'Laseen?'

  'Napan word. Means—'

  'I know what it means.'

  'Hope the Emperor does, too.'

  Ganoes said, 'It means Thronemaster.'

  The two looked down at him.

  The wind shifted again, making the iron demon groan on its perch – a smell of cool stone from the Hold itself. 'My tutor's Napan,' Ganoes explained.

  A new voice spoke behind them, a woman's, imperious and cold. 'Commander.'

  Both soldiers turned, but without haste. The commander said to his companion, 'The new company needs help down there. Send Dujek and a wing, and get some sappers to contain the fires – wouldn't do to have the whole city burn.'

  The soldier nodded, marched away, sparing the woman not a single glance.

  She stood with two bodyguards near the portal in the citadel's square tower. Her dusky blue skin marked her as Napan, but she was otherwise plain, wearing a salt-stained grey robe, her mousy hair cut short like a soldier's, her features thin and unmemorable. It was, however, her bodyguards that sent a shiver through Ganoes. They flanked her: tall, swathed in black, hands hidden in sleeves, hoods shadowing their faces. Ganoes had never seen a Claw before, but he instinctively knew these creatures to be acolytes of the cult. Which meant the woman was...

  The commander said, 'It's your mess, Surly. Seems I'll have to clean it up.'

  Ganoes was shocked at the absence of fear – the near-contempt in the soldier's voice. Surly had created the Claw, making it a power rivalled only by the Emperor himself.
>
  'That is no longer my name, Commander.'

  The man grimaced. 'So I've heard. You must be feeling confident in the Emperor's absence. He's not the only one who remembers you as nothing more than a serving-wench down in the Old Quarter. I take it the gratitude's washed off long since.'

  The woman's face betrayed no change of expression to mark if the man's words had stung. 'The command was a simple one,' she said. 'It seems your new officers are unable to cope with the task.'

  'It's got out of hand,' the commander said. 'They're unseasoned—'

  'Not my concern,' she snapped. 'Nor am I particularly disappointed. Loss of control delivers its own lessons to those who oppose us.'

  'Oppose? A handful of minor witches selling their meagre talents – to what sinister end? Finding the coraval schools on the shoals in the bay. Hood's Breath, woman, hardly a threat to the Empire.'

  'Unsanctioned. Defiant of the new laws—'

  'Your laws, Surly. They won't work, and when the Emperor returns he'll quash your prohibition of sorcery, you can be certain of that.'

  The woman smiled coldly. 'You'll be pleased to know that the Tower's signalled the approach of the transports for your new recruits. We'll not miss you or your restless, seditious soldiers, Commander.'

  Without another word, or a single glance spared for the boy standing beside the commander, she swung about and, flanked by her silent bodyguards, re-entered the citadel.

  Ganoes and the commander returned their attention to the riot in the Mouse. Flames were visible, climbing through the smoke.

  'One day I'll be a soldier,' Ganoes said.

  The man grunted. 'Only if you fail at all else, son. Taking up the sword is the last act of desperate men. Mark my words and find yourself a more worthy dream.'

  Ganoes scowled. 'You're not like the other soldiers I've talked to. You sound more like my father.'

  'But I'm not your father,' the man growled.

  'The world,' Ganoes said, 'doesn't need another wine merchant.'

  The commander's eyes narrowed, gauging. He opened his mouth to make the obvious reply, then shut it again.