The Bonehunters

  Palet was suddenly on his feet. 'Supplies, aye, sir. We're on our way!'

  Crust watched the fool scamper. The crew was drunk. Too bad for them. They were sorely undermanned, too. It'd been a bad idea, diving into the bay when old Ragstopper went down, what with all those sharks. Four good sailors had been lost that night. Good sailors, bad swimmers. Funny how that goes together.

  He looked round once more. Damn, done forgot again, didn't I? No dinghies. Well, there's always something.

  Four dromons, visible now, rounding into the bay, back-lit by one of the ugliest storms he'd ever seen. Well, not entirely true — he'd seen the like once before, hadn't he? And what had come of it? Not a whole lot... except, that is, a mountain of otataral...

  The lead dromon — Laseen's flagship, The Surly. Three in her wake. Three, that was a lot — who in Hood's name has she brought with her? A damned army?

  Uninvited guests.

  Poor Aragan.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Who are these strangers, then, with their familiar faces?

  Emerging from the crowd with those indifferent eyes,

  and the blood streaming down from their hands.

  It is what was hidden before, masked by the common

  and the harmless, now wrenching features revealed

  in a conflagration of hate and victims tumble underfoot.

  Who led and who followed and why do flames thrive

  in darkness and all gaze, insensate and uncomprehending,

  come the morning light, upon the legacy of unleashed

  spite? I am not fooled by wails of horror. I am not moved

  by expostulations of grief. For I remember the lurid night,

  the visage flashing in firelit puddles of blood was my own.

  Who was this stranger, then, with that familiar face?

  Melting into the crowd in the fraught, chaotic heave,

  and the blood raging in the storm of my skull boils frantic

  as I plunge down and lay waste all these innocent lives,

  my hate at their weakness a cauldron overturned, whilst

  drowning in my own, this stranger, this stranger...

  On the Dawn I Take My Life, The Wickan Pogrom, Kayessan

  As the longboat from the Jakatakan fleet's flagship drew up alongside, the commander and four marines quickly clambered aboard the Froth Wolf.

  They were Untan, one and all, bedecked in elaborate, expensive armour, the commander tall, weak-chinned with a watery, uneasy look in his pale eyes. He saluted Admiral Nok first, and then the Adjunct.

  'We were not expecting you for months, Adjunct Tavore.'

  Arms crossed, Fist Keneb stood a short distance away, leaning against the mainmast. After the commander's words, Keneb shifted his attention to the marines. Is that parade kit you're wearing? And then he noticed their expressions of disdain and hatred as the soldiers stared over to where stood Nil and Nether. Keneb glanced round, then hesitated.

  The Adjunct spoke, 'Your name, Commander?'

  A slight bow. 'My apologies, Adjunct. I am Exent Hadar, of House Hadar in Unta, firstborn—'

  'I know the family,' Tavore cut in, rather sharply. 'Commander Hadar, tell your marines to stand down im­mediately — if I see one more hand casually touch a sword grip they can swim back to your ship.'

  The commander's pale eyes flicked to Admiral Nok, who said nothing.

  Keneb relaxed — he had been about to walk over to strip the hides from those fools. Adjunct Tavore, you miss nothing, do you? Ever. Why do you continue to surprise me? No, wrong way of putting that — why am I constantly surprised?

  'Apologies again,' Hadar said, his insincerity obvious as he gestured to his guards. 'There have been a succession of, uh, revelations—'

  'Regarding what?'

  'Wickan complicity in the slaughter of Pormqual's Loyal Army at Aren, Adjunct.'

  Keneb stared at the man, dumbfounded. 'Complicity?' His voice was hoarse and the word barely made it out.

  The Adjunct's expression was as fierce as Keneb had ever seen on the woman, but it was Admiral Nok who spoke first. 'What insanity is this, Commander Hadar? The loyalty and service of the Wickans was and remains beyond reproach.'

  A shrug. 'As I said, Admiral. Revelations.'

  'Never mind that,' the Adjunct snapped. 'Commander, what are you doing patrolling these waters?'

  'The Empress commanded that we extend our range,' Hadar replied, 'for two reasons. Foremost, there have been incursions from an unknown enemy in black warships. We have had six engagements thus far. Initially, our ship mages were not able to contend with the sorcery the black ships employed, and accordingly we suffered in the exchanges. Since then, however, we have increased the complement and the calibre of our own cadres. Negating the sorcery in the battles evened matters considerably'

  'When was the last encounter?'

  Two months past, Adjunct.'

  'And the other reason?'

  Another slight bow. 'Intercepting you, Adjunct. As I said, however, we were not expecting you for some time. Oddly enough, our precise position right now came by direct command from the Empress herself, four days ago. Needless to say, against this unseasonal gale, we were hard pressed to make it here in time.'

  'In time for what?'

  Another shrug. 'Why, it turns out, to meet you. It seems obvious,' he added with condescension, 'that the Empress detected your early arrival. In such matters, she is all-knowing, and that is, of course, only to be expected.'

  Keneb watched as the Adjunct mulled on these develop­ments, then she said, 'And you are to be our escort to Unta?'

  'No, Adjunct. I am to instruct you to change the course of the imperial fleet.'

  'To where?'

  'Malaz City.'

  'Why?'

  Commander Hadar shook his head.

  'Tell me, if you know,' Tavore said, 'where is the Empress right now?'

  'Well, Malaz City, I would think, Adjunct.'

  ****

  'See that marine on the left?' Kalam asked in a low whisper.

  'What of him?' Quick Ben asked with a shrug.

  'He's a Claw.'

  They stood on the forecastle deck, watching the pro­ceedings below. The air was fresh, warm, the seas surprisingly gentle despite the hard, steady wind. Damned near paradise, the assassin considered, after that wild three days in the raw, tumultuous warren of Togg and Fanderay. The ships of the fleet, barring those of the Perish, were badly battered, especially the transports. None had gone down, fortunately, nor had any sailor or marine been lost. A few dozen horses, alas, had broken legs during the storms, but such attrition was expected, and no-one begrudged fresh meat in the stew-pots. Now, assuming this wind stayed at their backs, Malaz Island was only two days away, maybe a touch more.

  With his message delivered, Commander Hadar's haste to leave was pathetically obvious, and it seemed neither the Adjunct nor the Admiral was inclined to stretch out his stay.

  As the visitors returned to their longboat, a voice spoke quietly behind Kalam and Quick Ben. 'Did I hear correctly? We are now sailing for Malaz City?'

  Kalam fought down a shiver — he'd heard nothing. Again. 'Aye, Apsalar—'

  But Quick Ben had wheeled round in alarm and, now, anger. 'The damned steps up here are right in front of us! How in Hood's name did you get there, Apsalar? Breathing down our damned backs!'

  'Clearly,' the Kanese woman replied, her almond-shaped eyes blinking languidly, 'you were both distracted. Tell me, Kalam Mekhar, have you any theories as to why an agent of the Claw accompanied the Jakatakan commander?'

  'Plenty, but I'm not sharing any of them with you.'

  She studied him for a moment, then said, 'You are still undecided, aren't you?'

  Oh how I want to hit her. Right here, right now. 'You don't know what you're talking about, Apsalar. And I don't, neither.'

  'Well, that hardly makes sense—'

  'You're right,' Quick Ben snapped, 'it doesn't. Now get out of o
ur shadows, damn you!'

  'High Mage, it occurs to me that you are under a certain misapprehension. The Hounds of Shadow, in G'danisban, were after you.'1

  'Opportunistic!'

  'Certainly, if you care to believe that. In any case, it should then follow — even for one as immune to logic as you — that I acted then. Alone. The choice was mine, High Mage, and mine alone.'

  'What's she talking about, Quick?' Kalam demanded.

  But his friend was silent, studying the woman before him. Then he asked, 'Why?'

  She smiled. 'I have my reasons, but at the moment, I see no reason to share any of them with you.'

  Apsalar then turned away, walked towards the prow.

  'It's just that, isn't it?' Quick Ben muttered under his breath.

  'What do you mean?'

  'Undecided, Kal. We're all undecided. Aren't we?' Then he swung round and looked back down at the Adjunct.

  The assassin did the same.

  Tavore and Nok were talking, but quietly, their words stolen by the wind.

  'Now,' Quick Ben continued, 'is she?'

  Undecided? Not about anything, it seems. Kalam grimaced. 'Malaz City. I didn't have much fun the last time I visited. Your skin crawling, Quick? Mine is. Crawling bad.'

  'You notice something?' the wizard asked. That commander — he didn't ask a damned thing about the Perish ships with us. Now, that Claw, he must have made his report already, by warren, to Topper or the Empress herself. So...'

  'So, she knows we've got guests. Maybe that's why she doesn't want us sailing into Unta's harbour.'

  'Right, Laseen's rattled.'

  Then Kalam grunted. 'I just realized something else,' he said in a low voice.

  'What?'

  'The Adjunct, she sent the Destriant to her cabin. And she made no formal invitation to the commander the way she's supposed to — no, she made them all discuss things out here, in the open. Anyway, maybe the Adjunct didn't want the commander or that Claw to see Run'Thurvian, or talk to him, about anything.'

  'She's no fool.'

  'A damned game of Troughs between them, isn't it? Quick Ben, what is going on here?'

  'We'll find out, Kal.'

  'When?'

  The High Mage scowled, then said, 'The moment, friend, we stop being undecided.'

  ****

  Aboard the Silanda, Fiddler had crawled from the hold like a crippled rat, dishevelled, pale and greasy. He spied Bottle and slowly, agonizingly, made his way over. Bottle was feeding out line. There were shoals out there, and he'd seen fish leaping clear of whatever chased them beneath the surface. One of the Jakatakan dromons was sidling past to port, a rock's throw away, and the rest of the squad had lined up to give them a show.

  Bottle shook his head, then glanced over as his sergeant arrived. 'Feeling any better?'

  'I think so. Gods, I think that nightmare realm cured me.'

  'You don't look any better.'

  'Thanks, Bottle.' Fiddler pulled himself into a sitting position, then looked over at the rest of the squad. 'Hood's breath!' he exploded. 'What are you doing?!'

  Koryk, Smiles, Cuttle and Tarr had joined up with Deadsmell, Throatslitter and Widdershins, standing in a row at the rail, looking across at the passing dromon, and under each soldier's left arm was a Tiste Andii head.

  At Fiddler's outburst, Gesler and Stormy appeared on deck.

  Bottle watched them take it all in, then Gesler called out, 'Give 'em a wave!'

  The soldiers complied, began waving cheerfully across at what seemed to be a mass of staring sailors and marines and – Bottle squinted — officers.

  Smiles said, 'It's all right, Sergeant. We just thought they'd appreciate a change of scenery.'

  'Who?'

  'Why, these heads, of course.'

  Then Stormy was running past, towards the stern, where he dragged down his breeches and sat over the rail, his back end hanging open, exposed. With a savage grunt, he began defecating.

  And while his comrades lining the rail all turned to stare at the mad corporal, Bottle was transfixed by the ghastly expressions of delight on those severed heads. Those smiles – the line in Bottle's hands kept spinning out, then vanished, unnoticed, as sudden nausea clenched his gut.

  And he bolted for the opposite rail.

  ****

  Captain Kindly made a gagging sound. 'That is disgusting.'

  Lieutenant Pores nodded. 'I'll say. Gods, what did that man eat to produce those?'

  A crowd was gathering on the deck as laughing marines and sailors all watched the antics proceeding apace on the Silanda half a cable ahead. The Jakatakan dromon was now to port, a mass of onlookers on the decks, silent, watching.

  'That is highly unusual,' Pores commented. 'They're not rising to the bait.'

  'They look scared witless,' Kindly said.

  'So those marines have got themselves a collection of heads,' Pores said, shrugging.

  'You idiot. Those heads are still alive.'

  'They're what?'

  'Alive, Lieutenant. I have this from reliable sources.'

  'Even so, sir, since when did Malazans get so soft?'

  Kindly regarded him as he would a skewered grub. 'Your powers of observation are truly pathetic. That ship is filled with Untans. Coddled nobleborn pups. Look at those damned uniforms, will you? The only stains they got on 'em is gull shit, and that's because the gulls keep mistaking them for dead, bloated seals.'

  'Nice one, sir.'

  'Another comment like that,' Kindly said, 'and I'll get the stitcher to sew up your mouth, Lieutenant. Ha, we're changing course.'

  'Sir?'

  'For Hood's sake, what are those fools doing?'

  Pores followed his captain's glare, to the stern of their own ship, where two heavy infantry soldiers were seated side by side, their leggings round their ankles. 'I would hazard a guess, sir, that Hanfeno and Senny are adding their stone's worth.'

  'Get back there and make them stop, Lieutenant. Now!'

  'Sir?'

  'You heard me! And I want those two on report!'

  'Stop them, sir? How do I do that?'

  'I suggest corks. Now move!'

  Pores scrambled.

  Oh please, please be finished before I arrive. Please...

  ****

  The send-off to the Jakatakan Fleet encompassed every Malazan ship, a cavalcade of defecation that brought sea-gulls for leagues round with mad shrieks and wheeling plunges. The Adjunct had not remained on deck for very long, but issued no orders to halt the proceedings. Nor did Admiral Nok, although Keneb noticed that the sailors of the dromon escorts and the transports did not participate. This gesture belonged exclusively to the Fourteenth Army.

  And maybe it had some value. Hard to tell with things like this, Keneb knew.

  The wind drove them onward, east by southeast now, and before a quarter bell was sounded, the Jakatakans were far behind.

  Destriant Run'Thurvian had appeared earlier, and had watched the escapades of the marines on the surrounding ships. Frowning for some time, he eventually spotted Keneb and approached. 'Sir,' he said, 'I am somewhat con­fused. Is there no honour between elements of the Mezla military?'

  'Honour? Not really, Destriant. Rivalries provide the lifeblood, although in this case matters proved somewhat one-sided, and for the reason for that you will have to look to the Silanda.'

  A sage nod. 'Of course, the ship woven in sorceries, where time itself is denied.'

  'Do you know the manner of those sorceries, Destriant?'

  'Kurald Emurlahn, Tellann, Telas and a residue of Toblakai, although in this latter case the nature of the power is... uncertain. Of course,' he added, 'there is nothing unusual in that. Among the ancient Toblakai —according to our own histories — there could arise individ­uals, warriors, who became something of a warren unto themselves. Such power varies in its efficacy, and it would appear that this sort of blood talent was waning in the last generations of the Toblakai civilization, growing ever weak
er. In any case,' the Destriant added, shrugging, 'as I said, a residue remains on this Silanda. Toblakai. Which is rather interesting, since it was believed that the giant race was extinct.'

  'There are said to be remnants,' Keneb offered, 'in the Fenn Range of north Quon Tali. Primitive, reclusive...'

  'Oh yes,' Run'Thurvian said, 'of mixed bloods there are known examples, vastly diminished, of course. The Trell, for example, and a tribe known as the Barghast. Ignorant of past glories, as you suggest. Fist, may I ask you a question?'

  'Of course.'

  'The Adjunct Tavore. It appears that the relationship with her Empress has become strained. Have I surmised correctly? This is disturbing news, given what awaits us.'

  Keneb looked away, then he cleared his throat. 'Destriant, I have no idea what awaits us, although it seems that you do. As for the Empress, again, there is nothing I can imagine to give rise to mutual distrust. The Adjunct is the Hand of the Empress. An extension of Laseen's will.'

  'The Empress would not be inclined, therefore,' Run'Thurvian said, 'to sever that hand, yes? I am relieved to hear this.'

  'Good... why?'

  'Because,' the Destriant said, turning away, 'your Fourteenth Army will not be enough.'

  ****

  If wood could be exhausted by unceasing strain, the ships of the imperial fleet were at their very limits, two bells out from Malaz Island on the night of the second day, when the wind suddenly fell away, a coolness coming into the air, and it seemed that every ship sagged, settling deeper into the swells, and now, in place of the hot dry gale, a softer breeze arrived.

  Kalam Mekhar had taken to pacing the deck, restless, his appetite gone and a tightness gripping his guts. As he made his way aft for the thirtieth time since dusk, Quick Ben appeared alongside him.

  'Laseen's waiting for us,' the High Mage said. 'And Tayschrenn's there, like a scorpion under a rock. Kal, everything I'm feeling...'

  'I know, friend.'

  'Like I did back outside Pale.'

  They turned about and slowly walked forward. Kalam scratched at his beard. 'We had Whiskeyjack, back then. Even Dujek. But now...' He growled under his breath, then rolled his shoulders.

  'Ain't seen you do that in a long time, Kal, that shrug of yours.'