Steven Erikson - Malazan Book of the Fallen 01 - Gardens of the Moon

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Book Information:

Genre: Epic Fantasy

Author: Steven Erikson

Name: Gardens of the Moon

Series: A Tale of the Malazan Book of the Fallen 1

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Gardens of the Moon

A Tale of the Malazan Book of the Fallen 1

Steven Erikson

PROLOGUE

1154th Year of Burn's Sleep 96th Year of the Malazan Empire The Last Year of

Emperor Kellanved's Reign

I

HE 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 61ite. 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.'

Taseen?'

'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 saltstained

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, s6n. Taking up the sword s 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.

'Tl,e worlA I Ganoes'sa;A 'Aoesn't- n—A another lzrine merAnnt The commander's

eyes narrowed, gauging. He opened his mouth to I make the obvious reply, then shut it

again.

Ganoes Paran looked back down at the burning quarter, pleased with himself. Even a

bov. Commander, can make a Point.

Mock's Vane swung once more. Hot smoke rolled over the wall, engulfing them. A

reek of burning cloth, scorched paint and stone, and now of something sweet. 'An

abattoir's caught fire,' Ganoes said. 'Pigs.'

The commander grimaced. After a long moment he sighed and leaned back down on

the merlon. 'As you say, boy, as you say.

I

BOOK ONE

In the eighth year the Free Cities of Genabackis established contracts with a number

of mercenary armies to oppose the Imperium's advance; prominent among these were

the Crimson Guard, under the command of Prince K'azz D'Avore (see Volumes III & V);

and the Tiste Andü regiments of Moon's Spawn, under the command of Caladan Brood

and others.

The forces of the Malazan Empire, commanded by High Fist Dujek Onearm, consisted

in that year of the 2nd, 5th and 6th Armies, as well as legions of Moranth.

In retrospect two observations can be made. The first is that the Moranth alliance of

1156 marked a fundamental change in the science of warfare for the Malazan Imperium,

which would prove efficacious in the short term. The second observation worth noting is

that the involvement of the sorcerous Tiste Andü of Moon's Spawn represented the

beginning of the continent's Sorcery Enfilade, with devastating consequences.

In the Year of Burn's Sleep 1163, the Siege of Pale ended with a now legendary

sorcerous conflagration. .

Imperial Campaigns 11 S8-

Volume IV, Genabackis Imrygyn Tallobant (b.1151)

CHAPTER ONE

The old stones of this road have rung with iron black-shod hoofs and drums where

I saw him walking up from the sea between the hills soaked red in sunset he came, a

boy among the echoes sons and brothers all in ranks of warrior ghosts he came to pass

where I sat on the worn final league-stone at day's end -

his stride spoke loud all I needed know of him on this road of stone -

the boy walks another soldier, another one ~right heart not yet cooled to hard iron

-Motber's Lamen, Anonymous 1161st Year of Burn's Sleep 103rd Year of the Malazan

Empire 7tb Year of Empress Laseen's Rule PROD AND PULL,' THE OLD WOMAN WAS

SAYING, "US THE WAY OF THE Empress, as like the gods themselves.' She leaned to

one side and spat, then brought a soiled cloth to her wrinkled lips. 'Three husbands and

two sons I saw off to war.'

The fishergirl's eyes shone as she watched the column of mounted soldiers thunder

past, and she only half listened to the hag standing beside her. The girl's breath had

risen to the pace of the magnificent horses. She felt her face burning, a flush that had

nothing to do with the heat. The day was dying, the sun's red smear over the trees on

her right, and the sea's sighing against her face had grown cool.

'That was in the days of the Emperor,' the hag continued. 'Hood roast the bastard's

soul on a spit. But look on, lass. Laseen scatters bones with the best of them. Heh, she

started with his, didn't she, now?'

The fishergirl nodded faintly. As befitted the lowborn, they waited by the roadside,

the old woman burdened beneath a rough sack filled with turnips, the girl with a heavy

basket balanced on her head. Every minute or so the old woman shifted the sack from

one bony shoulder to the other.

With the riders crowding them on the road and the ditch behind them a steep drop to

broken rocks, she had no place to put down the sack.

'Scatters bones, I said. Bones of husbands, bones of sons, bones of wives and bones

of daughters. All the same to her. All the same to the Empire.' The old woman spat a

second time. 'Three husbands and two sons, ten coin apiece a year. Five of ten's fifty.

Fifty coin a year's cold company, lass. Cold in winter, cold in bed.'

The fishergirl wiped dust from her forehead. Her bright eyes darted among the

soldiers passing before her. The young men atop their highbacked saddles held

expressions stern and fixed straight ahead. The few women who rode among them sat

tall and somehow fiercer than the men. The sunset cast red glints from their helms,

flashing so that the girl's eyes stung and her vision blurred.

'You're the fisherman's daughter,' the old woman said. 'I seen you afore on the road,

and down on the strand. Seen you and your dad at market. Missing an arm, ain't he?

More bones for her collection is likely, eh?' She made a chopping motion with one hand,

then nodded. 'Mine's the first house on the track. I use the coin to buy candies. Five

candles I burn every night, five candies to keep old Rigga company. It's a tired house,

full of tired things and me one of them, lass. What you got in the basket thereP Slowly

the fishergirl realized that a question had been asked of her. She pulled her attention

from the soldiers and smiled down at the old woman. 'I'm sorry,' she said,'the horses are

so loud.'

Rigga raised her voice. 'I asked what you got in your basket, lass?'

'Twine. Enough for three nets. We need to get one ready for tomorrow.

Dadda lost his last one - something in the deep waters took it and a whole catch, too.

11grand Lender wants the money he loaned us and wc need a catch tomorrow. A good

one.' She smiled again and swept her gaze back to the soldiers. 'Isn't it wonderful?' she

breathed.

Rigga's hand shot out and snagged the girl's thick black hair, yanked it hard.

The girl cried out. The basket on her head lurched, then slid down on to one

shoulder. She grabbed frantically for it but it was too heavy. The basket struck the

ground and split apart. 'Aaai!' the girl gasped, attempting to kneel. But Rigga pulled and

snapped her head around.

'You listen to me, lass!' The old woman's sour breath hissed against the girl's face.

'The Empire's been grinding this land down for a hundred years. You was born in it. I

wasn't. When I was your age Itko Kan was a country. We flew a banner and it was ours.

We were free, lass.'

The girl was sickened by Rigga's breath. She squeezed shut her eyes.

'Mark this truth, child, else the Cloak of Lies blinds you for ever.'

Rigga's voice took on a droning cadence, and all at once the girl stiffened. Rigga,

Riggalai the Seer, the wax-witcb wbo trapped souls in candles and burned tbem. Souls

devoured in flame- Rigga's words carried the chilling tone of prophecy. 'Mark this truth. I

am the last to speak to you. You are the last to hear me. Thus are we linked, you and,

beyond all else.'

Rigga's fingers snagged tighter in the girl's haiL 'Across the sea the Empress has

driven her knife into virgin soil. The blood now comes in a tide and it'll sweep you

under, child, if you're not careful. They'll put a sword in your hand, they'll give you a fine

horse, and they'll send you 'across that sea. But a shadow will embrace your soul. Now,

listen! Bury this deep! Rigga will preserve you because we are linked, you and 1. But it is

all I can do, understand? Look to the Lord spawned in Darkness; his is the hand that

shall free you, though he'll know it not-'

'What's this?' a voice bellowed.

Rigga swung to face the road. An outrider had slowed his mount. The Seer released

the girl's hair.

The girl staggered back a step. A rock on the road's edge turned underfoot and she

fell. When she looked ut) the outrider had trotted Dast.

Another thundered un in his wake.

'Leave the pretty one alone, hag,' this one growled, and as he rode by he leaned in

his saddle and swung an open, gauntleted hand. The ironscaled glove cracked against

Rigga's head, spinning her around. She toppled.

The fishergirl screamed as Rigga landed heavily across her thighs. A read of crimson

spit spattered her face. Whimpering the girl nushed herself back across the gravel, then

used her feet to shove away Rigga's bodv. She climbed to her knees.

Something within Rigga's prophecy seemed lodged in the girl's head, heavy as a

stone and hidden from light. She found she could not retrieve a single word the Seer had

said. She reached out and grasped Rigga's woollen sha 1. Carefullv_ she rolled the old

woman over. Blood covered I i one side of Rigga's head, running down behind the ear.

More blood smeared her lined chin and stained her mouth. The eyes stared sightlessly.

The fishergirl pulled back, unable to catch her breath. Desperate, she looked about.

The column of soldiers had passed, leaving nothing but dust and the distant tremble of

hoofs. Rigga's bag of turnips had spilled on to the road. Among the trampled vegetables

lay five tallow candles.

The girl managed a ragged lungful of dusty air. Wiping her nose, she looked to her

own basket.

'Never mind the candles,' she mumbled, in a thick, odd voice. 'They'r

gone, aren't they, now? just a scattering of bones. Never mind.' She crawled towards

the bundles of twine that had fallen from the breachec basket, and when she spoke again

her voice was young, normal. 'W(

need the twine. We'll work all night and get one ready. Dadda's waiting He's right at

the door, he's looking up the track, he's waiting to see me.

She stopped, a shiver running through her. The sun's light was almos gone. An

unseasonal chill bled from the shadows, which now flowed liki water across the road.

'Here it comes, then,' the girl grated softly, in a voice that wasn't he own.

A soft-gloved hand fell on her shoulder. She ducked down, cowering 'Easy, girl,' said

a man's voice. 'It's over. Nothing to be done for he now.'

The fishergirl looked up. A man swathed in black leaned over her, hi face obscured

beneath a hood's shadow. 'But he hit her,' the girl said, in child's voice. 'And we have

nets to tie, me and Dadda—

'Let's get you on your feet,' the man said, moving his long-fingere hands down under

her arms. He straightened, lifting her effortlessly. Hc sandalled feet dangled in the air

before he set her down.

Now she saw a second man, shorter, also clothed in black. This or stood on the road

and was turned away, his gaze in the direction tf.

soldiers had gone. He spoke, his voice reed-thin. 'Wasn't much of a life he said, not

turning to face her. 'A minor talent, long since dried up <

the Gift. Oh, she might have managed one more, but we'll never knol will we?'

The fishergirl stumbled over to Rigga's bag and picked up a candl She straightened,

her eyes suddenly hard, then deliberately spat on to tf road.

The shorter man's head snapped towards her. Within the hood seemed the shadows

played alone.

The girl shrank back a step. 'It was a good life,' she whispered. 'S had these candles,

you see. Five of them. Five for-'

'Necromancy,' the short man cut in.

V%

I I The taller man, still at her side, said softly, 'I see them, child. I understand what

they mean.' , The other man snorted. 'The witch harboured five frail, weak souls.

Nothing grand.' He cocked his head. 'I can hear them now. Calling for her.'

Tears filled the girl's eyes. A wordless anguish seemed to well up from that black

stone in her mind. She wiped her cheeks. 'Where did you come from?' she asked

abruptly. 'We didn't see you on the road.'

The man beside her half turned to the gravel track. 'On the other side,' he said, a

smile in his tone. 'Waiting, just like you.'

The other giggled. 'On the other side indeed.' He faced down the road again and

raised his arms.

The girl drew in a sharp breath as darkness descended. A loud, tearing sound filled

the air for a second, then the darkness dissipated and the girl's eyes widened.

Seven massive Hounds now sat around the man in the road. The eyes of these beasts

glowed yellow, and all were turned in the same direction as the man himself.

She heard him hiss, 'Eager, are we? Then goV Silently, the Hounds bolted down the

road.

Their master turned and said to the man beside her, 'Something to gnaw on Laseen's

mind.' He giggled again.

'Must you complicate things?' the other answered wearily.

The short man stiffened. 'They are within sight of the column.'

He cocked his head. From up the road came the scream of horses.

He sighed. 'You've reached a decision, Cotillion?'

The other grunted aniusedly. 'Using my name, Ammanas, means you've just decided

for me. We can hardly leave her here now, can we?'

'Of course we can, old friend. just not breathing.'

Cotillion looked down on the girl. 'No,' he said quietly,'she'll do.'

The fishergirl bit her lip. Still clutching Rigga's candle, she took another step back,

her wide eyes darting from one man to the other.

'Pity,' Ammanas said.

Cotillion seemed to nod, then he cleared his throat and said, 'It'll take time.

An amused note entered Ammanas's reply. 'And have we time? True vengeance

needs the slow, careful stalking of the victim. Have you forgotten the pain she once

delivered us? Laseen's back is against the wall already. She might fall without our help.

Where would be the satisfaction in that?'

Cotillion's response was cool and dry. 'You've always underestimated the Empress.

Hence our present circumstances… No.' He gestured at the fishergirl. 'We'll need this one.

Laseen's raised the ire of Moon's Spawn, and that's a hornet's nest if ever there was one.

The timing is perfect.'

Faintly, above the screaming horses, came the shrieks of men and women, a sound

that pierced the girl's heart. Her eyes darted to Rigga's motionless form on the roadside,

then back to Ammanas, who now approached her. She thought to run but her legs had

weakened to a helpless trembling. He came close and seemed to study her, even though

the shadows within his hood remained impenetrable.

'A fishergirl?' he asked, in a kindly tone.

She nodded.

'Have you a name?l 'Enough!' Cotillion growled. 'She's not some mouse under your

paw, Ammanas. Besides, I've chosen her and I will choose her name as well.'

Ammanas stepped back. 'Pity,' he said again.

The girl raised imploring hands. 'Please,' she begged Cotillion, 'I've done nothing! My

father's a poor man, but he'll pay you all he can. He needs me, and the twine - he's

waiting right now!' She felt herself go wet between her legs and quickly sat down on the

ground. 'I've done nothing!' Shame rose through her and she put her hands in her lap.

'Please.'

'I've no choice any more, child,' Cotillion said. 'After all, you know our names.'

'I've never heard them beforeV the girl cried.

The man sighed. "With what's happening up the road right now, well, you'd be

questioned. Unpleasantly. There are those who know our names.'

'You see, lass,' Ammanas added, suppressing a giggle, 'we're not supposed to be

here. There are names, and then there are names.' He swung to Cotillion and said, in a

chilling voice, 'Her father must be dealt with. My Hounds?'

'No,' Cotillion said. 'He lives.'

'Then how?'

'I suspect,' Cotillion said, 'greed will suffice, once the slate is wiped clean.' Sarcasm

filled his next words. 'I'm sure you can manage the sorcery in that, can't you?'

Ammanas giggled. 'Beware of shadows bearing gifts.'

Cotillion faced the girl again. He lifted his arms out to the sides. The shadows that

held his features in darkness now flowed out around his body.

Ammanas spoke, and to the girl his words seemed to come from a great distance.

'She's ideal. The Empress could never track her down, could never even so much as

guess.' He raised his voice. 'It's not so bad a thing, lass, to be the pawn of a god.'

'Prod and pull,' the fishergirl said quickly.

Cotillion hesitated at her strange comment, then he shrugged. The shadows whirled

out to engulf the girl. With their cold touch her mind fell away, down into darkness. Her

last fleeting sensation was of the soft wax of the candle in her right hand, and how it

seemed to well up between the fingers of her clenched fist.

The captain shifted in his saddle and glanced at the woman riding beside him. 'We've

closed the road on both sides, Adjunct. Moved the local traffic inland. So far, no word's

leaked.' He wiped sweat from his brow and winced. The hot woollen cap beneath his

helm had rubbed his forehead raw.

'Something wrong, Captain?'

He shook his head, squinting up the road. 'Helmet's loose. Had more hair the last

time I wore it.'

The Adjunct to the Empress did not reply.

The mid-morning sun made the road's white, dusty surface almost blinding. The

captain felt sweat running down his body, and the mail of his helm's lobster tail kept

nipping the hairs on his neck. Already his lower back ached. It had been years since he'd

last ridden a horse, and the roll was slow in coming. With every saddle-bounce he felt

vertebrae crunch.

It had been a long time since somebody's title had been enough to straighten him

up. But this was the Adjunct to the Empress, Laseeri's personal servant, an extension of

her Imperial will. The last thing the captain wanted was to show his misery to this

young, dangerous woman.

Up ahead the road began its long, winding ascent. A salty wind blew from their left,

whistling through the newly budding trees lining that side of the road. By mid-afternoon,

that wind would breathe hot as a baker's oven, carrying with it the stench of the

mudflats. And the sun's heat would bring something else as well. The captain hoped to

be back in Kan by then.

He tried not to think about the place they rode towards. Leave that to the Adjunct. In

his years of service to the Empire, he'd seen enough to know when to shut everything

down inside his skull. This was one of those times.

The Adjunct spoke. 'You've been stationed here long, Captain?'

'Aye,' the man growled.

The woman waited, then asked, 'How long?'

He hesitated. 'Thirteen years, Adjunct.'

'You fought for the Emperor, then,' she said.

'Aye.'

'And survived the purge.'

The captain threw her a look. If she felt his gaze, she gave no indication.

Her eyes remained on the road ahead; she rolled easily in the saddle, the scabbarded

longsword hitched high under her left arm - ready for mounted battle. Her hair was

either cut short or drawn up under her helm, Her figure was lithe enough, the captain

mused.

'Finished?' she asked. 'I was asking about the purges commanded by Empress Laseen

following her predecessor's untimely death.'

The captain gritted his teeth, ducked his chin to draw up the helm's strap - he hadn't

had time to shave and the buckle was chafing. 'Not everyone was killed, Adjunct. The

people of Itko Kan aren't exactly excitable. None of those riots and mass executions that

hit other parts of the Empire. We all just sat tight and waited.'

'I take it,' the Adjunct said, with a slight smile, 'you're not noble-born, Captain.'

He grunted. 'If I'd been noble-born, I wouldn't have survived, even here in Itko Kan.

We both know that. Her orders were specific, and even the droll Kanese didn't dare

disobey the Empress.' He scowled. 'No, up through the ranks, Adjunct.'

'Your last engagement?'

'Wickan Plains.'

They rode on in silence for a time, passing the occasional soldier stationed on the

road. Off to their left the trees fell away to ragged heather, and the sea beyond showed

its white-capped expanse. The Adjunct spoke. 'This area you've contained, how many of

your guard have you deployed to patrol it?'

'Eleven hundred,' the captain replied.

Her head turned at this, her cool gaze tightening beneath the rim of her helm.

The captain studied her expression. 'The carnage stretches half a league from the

sea, Adjunct, and a quarter-league inland.'

The woman said nothing.

They approached the summit. A score of soldiers had gathered there, and others

waited along the slope's rise. All had turned to watch them 'Prepare yourself, Adjunct.'

The woman studied the faces lining the roadside. She knew these to be hardened

men and women, veterans of the siege of Li Heng and the Wickan Wars out on the north

plains. But something had been clawed into their eyes that had left them raw and

exposed. They looked upon her with a yearning that she found disturbing, as if they

hungered for answers. She fought the urge to speak to them as she passed, to offer

whatever comforting words she could. Such gifts were not hers to give, however, nor

had they ever been. In this she was much the same as the Empress.

From beyond the summit she heard the cries of gulls and crows, a sound that rose

into a high-pitched roar as they reached the rise. Ignoring the soldiers on either side, the

Adjunct moved her horse forward. The captain followed. They came to the crest and

looked down. The road dipped here for perhaps a fifth of a league, climbing again at the

far end to a promontory.

Thousands of gulls and crows covered the ground, spilling over into the ditches and

among the low, rough heather and gorse. Beneath this churning sea of black and white

the ground was a uniform red. Here and there rose the ribbed humps of horses, and

from among the squalling birds came the glint of iron.

The captain reached up and unstrapped his helm. He lifted it slowly from his head,

then set it down over his saddle horn. 'Adjunct…

'I am named Lorn,' the woman said softly.

I 'One hundred and seventy-five men and women. Two hundred and ten horses. The

Nineteenth Regiment of the Itko Kanese Eighth Cavalry.'

The captain's throat tightened briefly. He looked at Lorn. 'Dead.' His horse shied

under him as it caught an updraught. He closed savagely on the reins and the animal

stilled, nostrils wide and ears back, muscles trembling under him. The Adjunct's stallion

made no move. 'All had their weapons bared. All fought whatever enemy attacked them.

But the dead are all ours.'

'You've checked the beach below?' Lorn asked, still staring down on the road.

'No signs of a landing,' the captain replied. 'No tracks anywhere, neither seaward nor

inland. There are more dead than these, Adjunct.

Farmers, peasants, fisherfolk, travellers on the road. All of them torn apart, limbs

scattered - children, livestock, dogs.' He stopped abruptly and turned away. 'Over four

hundred dead,' he grated. 'We're not certain of the exact count.'

'Of course,' Lorn said, her tone devoid of feeling. 'No witnesses?'

Steven Erikson - Malazan Book of the Fallen 01 - Gardens of the Moon

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