Ian Esslemont - Blood and Bone

How similar yet utterly dissimilar the men were. Both pretending to be mercenaries, yet remaining far from it. Allies, they remained a mere sword’s edge from sworn blood enemies: Malazans versus Crimson Guard.

Yusen nodded a greeting to Murk. K’azz eyed him guardedly.

‘We’ve decided on a reconnoitre,’ Yusen said. ‘Are you and your partner up for it?’

‘Yes, sir. We’re good.’

‘Okay. Have a look see and report back.’

Murk jerked his assent, gave a shallow nod to K’azz, and went to find Sour.

Together, they headed out of camp. Sour, it appeared, was in no better shape than he. The remnants of dried blood caked his face and he winced whenever the sunlight reached him.

‘Why us?’ he complained, his voice low. ‘Why not one o’ them fancy-pants Crimson Guard mages? Why should we be the ones to have to stick our necks out?’

Murk shrugged as he walked along. ‘Musta been some kind of negotiation. A gesture of trust from K’azz, maybe. I don’t know exactly.’

His partner slouched along next to him with his awkward crab-like gait. ‘Oh, we’re the famous Crimson Guard,’ he minced. ‘We’re too fancy to do any work.’

Murk burst out laughing and had to stop walking. Sour’s brows clenched together in puzzlement. ‘Wazzat?’

Still chuckling, Murk waved it aside. ‘Nothing. C’mon. It’s just nice to know that things have returned to normal round here.’

Clear of the mound, they came across a broad squat tree that offered good cover from the sun. Murk picked a spot in the deepest shadow. Sour sat down with his back to a root. Murk crossed his legs and pressed his fingers together on his lap. ‘So,’ he said. ‘That was one amazing blowup.’

‘Sure was,’ his partner agreed, his bulging eyes edging aside.

‘Gonna ’fess up?’

‘ ’Fess up to what?’

‘You knew who that was all along — didn’t you?’

Sour blushed furiously, clearing his throat. ‘Wasn’t for me to say. She wanted to be all ’nonymous. So I played along.’

‘Well … you could have told your partner.’

‘Sorry. I was afraid she’d turn me into something.’

‘You already are something, Sour.’

‘Hunh?’ His partner scrunched up his wrinkled face in puzzlement.

Murk sighed. ‘Never mind. Let’s have a look.’

Murk gently raised his Warren while tensed for an overt objection, or counter-gesture, from any other quarter. Sensing nothing, he slipped his awareness off a distance to the nearest deep shadow. Here he waited until he felt Sour’s awareness keeping watch on him. Then he set off searching the grounds of Jakal Viharn.

The blast had knocked down many trees, but not all. The thinner, younger ones remained standing, albeit stripped of most of their branches. As for the many ruins dotting the grounds, well, to Murk they all looked pretty much the same: ruined.

He searched for some time, finding nothing. The place was empty, abandoned. The blast had driven off all the wildlife: the birds, the monkeys, even the deer he’d spotted foraging among the brush here and there. As for those half-creatures, call them what you would, none remained that he could find.

His poking about brought him down to the river where a number of ruins lay as little more than foundation lines, canted stupas and sturdy bell-shaped hollow cells or sculptures. Here he spotted someone he’d never seen before: a big hefty-looking fellow with long hair tied back with a clasp. He was sitting on the ground, legs crossed, thick arms draped over his knees. His gaze was resting aside and upwards, regarding someone or something. Murk shifted his point of view among the shadows until he could see what the man was studying.

It was a woman seated on a step before a broken heap of stones that might’ve been an altar at one time. She wore long loose white robes, her limbs were long and slim, and her black hair was cut quite short. As he saw her, so too did her gaze move to sharpen on him. She waved him forward and his heart lurched as a panicked tightening across his chest crushed it. Shit! One’s still here. But which?

She waved again — yet not so imperiously as he imagined Ardata might have. He emerged from the shadows to start across the open grounds between. The giant fellow surged to his feet.

‘It is all right, Nagal,’ the woman said. Murk could not identify her by her voice; she sounded like neither of the Azathanai. The man, Nagal, edged protectively closer to the woman.

Murk halted a few paces distant and bowed. ‘Whom do I have the honour of addressing?’

‘Your manners should be a lesson to your master, mage of Meanas. But I am afraid there is little hope in that arena.’

Murk remained bowed, his eyes downcast, waiting.

A sigh escaped the woman. ‘Very well.’ Her robes brushed as she leaned forward. ‘Shall I let you into a secret, Murken Warrow, mage of Shadow?’

Murk swallowed with difficulty. He wanted no secrets of the Azathanai. ‘I seek no boon,’ he answered softly.

‘That is good. I see these last few lessons have not been lost upon you. No, no boon. Just a confession.’ She lowered her voice even further. ‘The truth is … not even I know for certain.’

‘ It’s T’riss ,’ Sour’s voice whispered in Murk’s ear.

Murk raised his gaze. The Azathanai was peering beyond him, a playful smile at her lips. ‘Greetings, Sour. You are well informed. As I would expect.’

‘And the other?’ Murk enquired slowly, ‘if I may ask?’

‘She has withdrawn. Released all that she ought to have released ages ago. And who knows, perhaps she will learn to accept all she ought to have accepted all these ages. She no longer manifests a presence directly here in the mundane. As for the future,’ she gave a small shrug, ‘who can say?’

‘A goddess in truth,’ Murk murmured.

‘Precisely. Together with all that comes with it — desired or not.’

‘And yourself?’ Murk asked, emboldened enough to lift a brow.

The woman’s smile broadened and she spread her arms. ‘Myself? I am merely an Enchantress. Nothing more. Now,’ she waved them off, ‘go get your superiors. I will speak with them.’

A small contingent was brought together. K’azz selected his lieutenant, Shimmer, together with two mages, Gwynn and Lor. Yusen brought Burastan, Murk and Sour. The girl came as well, accompanied by the swordswoman whom she clung to and wouldn’t be parted from.

The party made its way across the grounds of Jakal Viharn. A fine white ash dusted everything like snow. It fell as a thin drifting sleet. The utter silence was almost a shock to Murk. Even their footsteps were smothered. It was as if they walked in another world, he imagined.

T’riss, if indeed it was she, awaited them as before. Murk noted that upon seeing the big man, Nagal, K’azz and party paused in recognition. He came to them before they reached the Enchantress.

‘Nagal,’ K’azz greeted him. ‘I am sorry about Rutana.’

The giant nodded, frowning. He gazed down at his wide hands, clenched as if yet ready to grasp some foe. ‘Even after what he did she still would not allow me …’ His voice thickened until he could not continue and he lowered his head even further. ‘I was so angered. I ran …’

‘I’m sorry.’

The man nodded and walked away, his head lowered as he examined his knotted hands. K’azz turned to the Enchantress, who urged everyone forward. The girl ran ahead only to come to an abrupt halt as if shocked or uncertain. The Enchantress rose and embraced her. ‘We will speak later, Lek. We have much to catch up.’ She raised her gaze to the swordswoman. ‘You too, Ina. After this.’

The swordswoman, Ina, nodded, and wrapped her one arm around the girl to lead her away. They walked a distance and sat together on the tumbled blocks of a fallen wall.