‘But I thought the Malazans wanted you.’
‘Ah… well… them too.’
‘Wonderful.’
The four now occupied each of the sides of the practice yard. As one they drew their weapons, the long and the short blades.
‘Get rid of that and use your fancy blade,’ Orjin told Kyle.
‘I… don’t have it.’
‘You don’t-’ Orjin sent an exasperated look over his shoulder. ‘Why in the Abyss not?’
‘Gentlemen…’ Cullel called softly.
‘It was stolen from my room.’
‘Stolen?’
‘Gentlemen!’
‘Well, we’re in a right fix now, thanks to you,’ Orjin grumbled.
‘Thank you,’ Cullel said. ‘Now, before we execute our duty it is my obligation to inform you, Greymane, that you have been tried in absentia by the High Council of the Chosen, Defenders of the Lands of Korel and All Greater Fist and Beyond, and have been found guilty of making pacts with the enemy. And that you did enter into said pacts and covenants with the daemonic Riders wilfully, and of your own cognizance.’
‘Pacts?’ Kyle whispered to Orjin.
The man gave a beefy shrug of acquiescence. ‘I talked to them.’
‘Them — the Riders? You really cut a deal with the Stormriders?’
‘Gentlemen! Decorum, if you please. The discharge of justice is a solemn responsibility.’
‘Justice?’ Kyle barked, offended by the idea. ‘You’re damned up yourself, aren’t you?’
Distaste twisted the man’s blade-narrow face. ‘Very well. Judgement has been delivered. And now, the sentence…’ He nodded to his fellows.
They advanced together, blades raised. So much for justice, Kyle decided — four against two. Entering the moonlight, the four Korelri suddenly blazed as the slanting rays revealed that their armour, fittings and scabbards were all studded and filigreed with thin curving traceries of the finest silver.
It chanced that Kyle faced Cullel. Shifting his sandalled foot, Kyle kicked a scarf of sand for cover and parried the other Korelri. Instantly, he knew he faced the best swordsmen he’d ever met. He could barely deflect their attacks. Light cuts welled blood on his forearms. A thrust tore into his thigh and he almost fell. They even worked as a team: he could only watch while they coordinated their attacks to draw him out and expose his side — Wind take it! There is nothing I can do! He sensed Orjin, behind, going down to one knee. Hit already?
Then Greymane was up and the two swordsmen facing Kyle flinched, seeing something beyond him. One of the Korelri behind Kyle snarled his pain while the other flew into view, tumbling loosely over the sand as if tossed by a ferocious blow. Then Orjin stepped in front of Kyle, swinging a two-handed dull-grey blade that Kyle had only seen once before. Cullel parried, but his sword blade shattered like brittle bronze and Orjin’s swing continued on to smash into his side, crumpling him. The last remaining Defender yelled ferociously and leapt, only to be impaled on the thick blade. Orjin kicked the man from the coarse, gritty-looking weapon, and shook the blood from its length.
Kyle took in the four fallen men, then Orjin’s ragged, two-handed sword. ‘Where by all the Queen’s Mysteries did that come from?’
A wet laugh sounded from where Cullel lay. It raised Kyle’s hackles. He squeezed the bloody cut in the leathers over his thigh and limped over.
‘What’s that? You have even more to say?’
‘So it is true…’ the man gasped. Blood welled up with the word. ‘The claims are true. Stonewielder… He betrayed all humanity for that artefact.’
‘Bullshit!’
The man’s eyes widened with a fevered light. ‘No. His reward. Ask him, though he’ll no doubt lie.’ He fought to say more but blood now filled his mouth and he gasped in a coughing fit, straining for breath. His body clenched rigid then slowly eased, relaxing, falling limp.
Kyle raised his eyes to Orjin. ‘Well?’
The big man simply walked off and knelt to pick up the fallen gourd of wine. When he straightened, the blade was gone. Kyle crossed the floor. ‘Where is it?’
‘Where’s what?’
‘The sword.’ He scanned the ground but saw no sign of it. ‘Where’d it go?’
‘Never mind, Kyle. Leave it alone.’ Orjin took a deep swig from the gourd.
‘But… what is it?’
Orjin wiped his sleeve across his mouth, sighed. ‘Damned useless is what it is.’
‘Useless?’
Waving aside all discussion, Orjin crossed to a bench, sat heavily. As his leg was steadily numbing Kyle decided to join him. He took the gourd and sipped to wet his caked mouth, spat. ‘So? Did the Riders give it to you?’
Orjin nodded his slow assent. ‘Yeah. They gave it to me. Not for any damned pact or deal or anything. We just talked and they gave it to me.’
‘Just like that.’
The man turned his head to glare one-eyed. ‘Don’t be trite. One night I climbed down the cliffs to the edge of the Ocean of Storm and waited — you try that one night. Eventually, some showed up. They speak Korelri… there’s irony for you. Anyway, we talked. They claimed they weren’t the enemy at all. I pointed out that attacking the Stormwall for generations tended to give the appearance. They said the Korelri were denying them access to their own territory and blocking some kind of ancient obligation, or holy pilgrimage… or some such thing.’ He cleared his throat, waved a hand. ‘Anyway, I couldn’t really make it all out.’
Kyle got the impression there was more to it, but apparently this was all the other would say — for now. He took another sip. He rested his eyes on the four still figures gleaming in the moonlight. ‘How come they can speak Korelri if they’re such sworn enemies? Do they take captives from the wall or something like that? Torture them in their undersea lairs?’
Orjin leaned forward to give him a long hard look.
‘What?’
Orjin snatched back the gourd. ‘You’ve listened to too many romances. It’s rotted your brain. No, the thought occurred to me too, so I asked. They said they’d always listened to the men on the wall and to sailors on ships.’
‘Well then, why don’t they just yell from the water then? Talk to them?’
‘They said they tried that but the men always ignored them, called them liars and sirens and such. So they stopped.’
‘And the sword?’
Again the beefy shrug. ‘They were grateful I’d talked to them so they offered it as a gift. I said sure.’
‘So what is it? Where’s it from?’
Orjin finished the gourd, tossed it aside. ‘They didn’t know. Said they’d found it deep at the bottom of the Cut far beneath the sea. They did say it was very old, and I agree.’
‘But you never use it.’
He edged his head side to side. ‘No. It’s too powerful. Too dangerous.’
‘But you have used it — I remember, against that warlock.’
A small thoughtful nod, eyes ahead, perhaps also studying the mute meaning of the four dead Defenders of the Faith.
‘So, that name I’d heard for you — Stonewielder.’
‘Yeah. A few called me that before I was arrested by Malazan High Command.’
‘But… I thought you were in command of Malazan forces in Korel.’
‘Military, yes. The marines and regulars. But there was a civilian authority. A governor. Hemel. Hemel ’Et Kelal. A Bloorian nobleman. Never did know what happened to the man. Anyway, he and a gang of minor officers denounced me for treating with the Riders… and that was that.’
