Return of the Crimson Guard

No one asked, ‘Who?’

‘It was a three-pronged attack,’ Stoop said. ‘In the middle of the coasts, east, west and south. Forty thousand men. We were vastly outnumbered. They hadn't forgotten the years we opposed them on Quon Tali. They meant to wipe us out. Things were pretty confused then, the Duke disappearing, lines of communication cut, forces encircled. Skinner fought Dassem to a standstill but the effort broke us. The Diaspora was ordered to preserve the Guard for the future.’ Stoop grinned, winking. ‘And now we're comin’ back with ten times the men we left with — not counting what the other companies have assembled. We may find that the Guard now numbers more than thirty thousand.’

Kyle examined the map. A cordillera labelled the Aurgatt Range crossed the extreme north. ‘Korel is north of this?’ he asked of Stoop.

‘Yes. Korel lands. Stratem is the name of the southern lands of this continent. Korel is the northern; then some islands and the south shore of Quon Tali. Took the Malazans long to get here ‘cause of the strait, the Sea of Storms. It separates us from them. The Korelri fight demons out of the strait — Riders, they call them. The current is eroding Korel lands. An unfriendly lot. The Empire's welcome to them.’

Kyle tried to imagine the line that their voyage must have taken. As far as he could figure they came from the south-east. There was no way they should have gone anywhere near the Sea of Storms. He stood, said to Trench, ‘I'll relieve Stalker.’ The sergeant nodded, his eyes on the map.

He walked a ways into the woods and shook a branch. A few minutes later Stalker appeared. They squatted together; Kyle scratched at the damp earth with a twig. The land looked rich: full of resources. During their short march they'd passed only one hint of human activity: an abandoned logging camp. Low, wooded hills appeared to lie ahead, cut by clear streams and thick with wildlife sign. So far the appearance that it wasn't permanently occupied carried.

‘What did you see on the Wanderer?’ Kyle asked, thinking if there was any time to put aside pretences, it was now. He waited, tense for the tall man's reply.

Stalker let out a long breath, pulled off his helmet. ‘I listened and watched mostly. Shimmer won't answer a direct question and is suspicious of anyone who asks. What I can piece together is that these Riders were waiting for us. They allowed our two ships through but the rest were scattered. How this was arranged I have no idea.’

The man kneaded a pouch hanging from his neck, a habit of his when thinking. Kyle waited. He realized he shouldn't be surprised there were rivalries among the Avowed. Now that they'd reached the homeland, everything was bound to come to a head.

‘I figure the other ships were delayed because Greymane and Shimmer wanted to get here before Cowl and his Veils. From what I picked up this Skinner is one nasty fellow. The only remaining Avowed who can put Cowl in his place. We were sent because the Ninth is Skinner's old command. Seems those who know are afraid the man might be around the bend — the Ninth is the only squad he might listen to.’

Kyle could only shake his head. Far worse than he'd imagined.

The scout stood, grunting. ‘A word to the wise: if you come across this Skinner fellow, don't let him near you.’ He disappeared into the woods.

Mallick's servants notified him of midnight vistors then saw them to the banquet hall. They offered the representatives of the Untan noble houses drinks and cold meats while letting them know that the master was dressing. Mallick was in fact already dressed but he waited, rearranging the folds of his robes. Timing, he knew, was everything in conspiracy.

Eventually, Mallick nodded to his servants, waved off his bodyguards and threw open the double doors of his banquet chamber. The men straightened at his entrance. Dim lamplight flickered at the chamber's centre. ‘And to what do I owe this honour?’ he asked as he crossed to a table crowded by carafes. He poured a small glass of golden almond liqueur.

‘You know,’ growled one, a grey-haired elder wrapped in a burgundy cloak.

Mallick swallowed slowly, nodding. ‘The generalities, yes, Quail. But not the specifics.’

Quail's answer, a dark ‘I wonder’, was lost beneath an outbreak of clamour from the others. Mallick raised a hand for quiet.

‘Please, please. Illata, would you speak?’

Illata helped himself to a tall glass of red wine. His cloak fell open, revealing that he wore a boiled leather cuirass studded with iron. ‘It has happened as you predicted, Mallick. Imry has withdrawn from the Assembly.’

Mallick lowered his gaze to this glass. ‘His actions remain his own, of course. Though it weakens our cause greatly. Was any explanation offered?’

‘Sickness in the family,’ sneered Illata. ‘But-’

‘I have a source in his household,’ interrupted another, ‘and that source overheard talk of a visitor in the night and threats to the family.’

‘And you think…’

Illata tossed back his wine. ‘Dammit, man, isn't it obvious. The Claws! She goes too far!’

‘Illata!’ This from several of the men.

A raised bare arm from Quail brought silence. ‘Regardless of who — ’ he eyed Mallick ‘- or how… we need men and materiel to guard our lands. If we cannot push emergency measures through the Assembly to gain them then we are forced to act independently.’

‘The emperor forbade all private armies,’ Mallick observed, setting down his empty glass.

‘Nonetheless, Grisan nobles are massing on our eastern border. Our intelligence has it they command a “bodyguard” of over four thousand men. And she has done nothing.’

‘We need the Imperial Arsenal,’ said Illata. ‘And we are prepared to take it.’

‘Much we have speculated on this in our confidence, of course, yet-’

‘No more talk,’ cut in Illata. ‘The plan is in motion. We will hold the arsenal by dawn.’

Mallick regarded the tense gleaming faces arrayed before him. ‘I see. And I, like a goat to the slaughter, shall be the one you would push forward?’ His sibilant voice fell even further, ‘Are you all still so terrified?’

‘Your, ah, influence, is known. You will speak for us. We mean no disloyalty. We merely wish to defend our own. All costs to Imperial coffers will be redeemed.’

‘Very well. I shall humbly bow before her as spokesman and beg our case. There may be complications though, you understand. The arsenal is guarded.’

Illata swept his cloak over his shoulder. ‘We understand. It is to be regretted, yet it is unavoidable.’

Mallick gave the slightest of bows. ‘Then the chaff is cast upon the waters. We each have our assigned fates. Let us go see what the currents may bring.’

After the men had left the chamber a woman in a dark plain tunic and leggings entered by a side-door. ‘Your orders?’ she asked. Mallick refilled his glass then turned. At the woman's chest the small silver sigil of a bird's foot grasping a pearl glimmered in the lamplight; Mallick studied that one bright point of light.

‘Send word to all the — well, the glove has become the hand now, has it not? Send word to our Hands. Corrupt officials will be attempting to steal munitions from the arsenal this night. Assassinate them all, enslave their families and confiscate all assets and possessions to the Throne. All in the name of the Empress, of course.’

‘And the Empress?’

‘The matter is too small to concern her.’

The woman inclined her head. ‘So it shall be.’ At the door, she turned. ‘Strange that none of us visited Imry on any night. What make you of that, Mallick?’

The priest's thick lips turned down as he examined the liquid gold in his glass. ‘Laseen must still have her loyal followers among the Claw, Coil. They must be rooted out.’

‘Yes. We have our suspicions.’

Mallick's gaze rose, his round face bright in the lantern light. ‘Oh? Who?’

‘Possum, among others.’

Smiling, Mallick set the glass down. ‘Ah, yes. Possum. Your superior now that Pearl is gone. He remains.’

The woman stood motionless while the lanterns sputtered and flickered at the centre of the room. Finally,