Ian Esslemont - Stonewielder

Manask elbowed Ipshank. ‘All finished with this nonsense now? A lifetime’s quest fulfilled, yes?’

‘Let’s hope so,’ the priest ground out.

From the rear of the cavern, behind them all, Captain Peles yelled out: ‘Attend!’

Suth turned on his wounded foot, wincing. There, filing in, came Black Moranth one after the other, until some twenty faced them. Suth would have groaned aloud if he wasn’t so appalled. Captain Peles faced them, sword readied. Kyle joined her, and Wess staggered over to them.

‘I could use my preternatural skills to sneak away — but I will stand by your side,’ Manask told Ipshank.

‘What a comfort.’

Suth glanced around for Faro, to discover that the Claw obviously did not share the giant’s sense of comradeship. He drew his sword to limp up to Wess’ side.

Then an old man slipped out from among the ranks of the Moranth: the Drenn elder, Gheven. ‘I’m sorry we are so late — we were held up by collapsed tunnels.’

Suth stared at the man, uncomprehending. ‘You… brought the Moranth? To help?’

One of the Blacks bowed. ‘I am Commander Borun. We have contracted with our cousins the Blue to lend you aid. I apologize for our tardiness.’

Kyle lowered his blade. ‘You are with the Blues?’

‘Yes. Our obligations to the Overlord ended… dissatisfactorily.’

Suth could not think of anything to say; he exchanged an uncertain look with Wess, who appeared hardly able to stand on his feet, a gash down his entire side running with blood that soaked his leg.

‘See to the wounded,’ the commander told his troops, and they fanned out over the cavern.

Suth brought Gheven to Ipshank.

The old man peered out over the cliff, where lights flashed like an undersea eruption beneath the waters of the Fist Sea. ‘I dared not hope,’ he breathed.

‘Let’s hope they were successful elsewhere as well.’

‘I fear not,’ the old man said, his voice low.

Kneeling at the unconscious girl’s side, Ipshank stiffened. ‘What do you mean?’

‘I mean I still sense her. She has not been utterly destroyed.’

‘Where?’

‘The Tower, I think. If I should guess.’

Ipshank grunted his agreement. ‘Hundreds of Korelri guard that place. Too many.’ Rising, he rubbed a hand over his shaven pate. ‘I can’t ask any more of anyone here.’

Gheven was quick to nod. ‘Yes. I understand. We can only hope.’

‘Yes.’ Ipshank raised the girl in his arms, grimacing against his wounds. ‘Let’s get out of here.’ He called across the chamber: ‘We should go, Adjunct. Collect the others.’

Kyle signalled his assent to the Moranth commander Borun, who then passed on the Malazan hand-sign move out to his troops.

Suth watched while the Moranth assembled a stretcher from Korelri spears and a cloak and laid Keri on it. Two picked up Corbin. Another raised Goss; Manask waved aside numerous offers of help. They filed out, following Gheven. Suth noticed that Kyle stood peering out over the cliff for some time in a long lonely vigil, and that he was the last to leave.

Shell stepped out of Blues’ D’riss Warren on to a muddy flattened wasteland of sluggish channels and humped, scoured-clean sand bars. She peered about mutely, as did the rest of the Crimson Guard.

‘Is this the right spot?’ she asked Blues, who’d been the first to emerge.

The man was looking around, still dumbfounded. ‘This is it. I don’t understand — wait! The wave. There must have been a huge wave here as well. The marsh has been swept over.’

In the distance a weak tendril of white smoke climbed into the twilight sky. They slogged their way to it. Lazar carried Corlo. Jemain helped Bars stumble along, his chest now bound. Fingers followed, coughing, leaning from side to side to press alternating nostrils closed and blow.

They found a dreary camp amid the wet sands, consisting of Orzu and a few of his numerous sons. The old man, pipe in mouth, rose to greet them. ‘I knew you would come,’ he said with a smile, holding out his arms.

Blues clapped the man’s back, then held him at arm’s length, frowning. ‘The girl…’

‘Ena,’ Shell said.

‘Ach! She is fine. It is too cold out here for her and the babe.’

‘Baby?’ Shell echoed.

The old man grinned with his stained rotten teeth. ‘Aye, a babe. Shell, she is named. Good name for the Sea-Folk, yes?’

Shell nodded, rather dazed.

‘You still have boats?’ Blues asked.

The man waggled his head. ‘Well… a few.’

Blues waved the matter aside. ‘Don’t worry. We don’t require one any more. We’ll make our own way. We just stopped to let you know…’ His voice tailed off as Fingers, aside, suddenly turned away and raised a hand for silence.

Shell looked over as well: something…

Blues peered south also, his gaze slitting.

‘What is it?’ Orzu asked, pulling his pipe from his mouth.

Shell sensed them now: Crimson Guard, but not. The Disavowed. Those who followed Skinner in his throw to take over the Guard, exiled by K’azz. Her gaze went to Bars. And he is come as well.

Hugging himself, Bars slowly straightened. Awareness came to his eyes. ‘He’s here. The bastard’s here!’

Orzu now clamped his lips shut, his gaze moving between them, calculating.

‘What’s south of here?’ Blues asked, his voice taut.

Orzu shrugged, bewildered. ‘Why, there’s nothing. Nothing at all. Just Remnant Isle. But no one’s there.’

‘Nothing? On the island?’

Orzu pursed his lips. ‘Well… there is the-’ He stopped himself.

Blues turned to eye the man directly. ‘Talk, old man.’

Orzu studied his pipe, turning it in his hands. ‘Trust me, outlanders. You don’t want to go there.’

Bars took a step towards Orzu but Blues raised a hand, halting him. ‘We need to know. Tell us.’

Orzu’s sons had risen as well and hands had gone to belt-knives and staves. The old man waved them down. ‘A tower, foreigner. The Stormguard’s sanctuary, hidden far back from the wall. But you cannot go there. Too many of them.’

‘I’m going,’ Bars ground out, his voice rasping.

‘No you’re not,’ Blues said.

The man gulped an objection, his eyes widening, shocked. ‘What?’

Blues raised a hand. ‘I’m sorry — you’re in no shape.’

Lazar gently set Corlo down next to the fire. ‘We’ll need everyone,’ he said.

‘Blues,’ Shell breathed, ‘you and I and Fingers are under no constraints now.’

The short Napan leaned his head back, looking skyward. Shell held out a hand: a few fat raindrops struck from the darkening clouds. Blues threw down the sticks at his belt, gestured to the Sea-Folk youths. ‘Give me those knives.’

The two looked at Orzu, who waved for them to do so. They handed over the thick curved blades. Blues hefted them, testing their weight and balance, then shoved them into his belt. Jemain handed Bars a sword he’d scavenged in Ice Tower. ‘Lazar and Bars and I will stand together.’ Blues looked to Shell. ‘You and Fingers will switch in and out of Warren, covering us. I’ll take us through.’

Bars turned to Jemain, who’d crossed to Corlo. ‘If I don’t come back… well, you and Corlo will make it back from here.’

Jemain nodded. ‘Yes. And… thank you, Captain.’

Bars swallowed, looking away.

Shell caught the old man’s eye. ‘Say goodbye to Ena and the babe.’

Orzu forced something like an encouraging smile, bowed. ‘Fare you well.’

‘Closer,’ Blues ordered.

They came out on a bare rocky shore that looked to have recently been washed over by a very high tide or large wave: fresh torn seaweed lay draped atop boulders and the dark water-staining rose all the way up to the base of a wide plain tower that sat atop the very centre of this small isle.