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.
Shell immediately raised her Warren, that of Serc, the Warren of Air and Storm, and flickered in and out, covering Blues and Bars and Lazar as they carefully climbed the slope. She knew that elsewhere, hidden, Fingers was doing the same.
She saw the scene in two differing frames. In one, the three men climbed the unremarkable barrier of rough uneven boulders, while in another the telltale marring and scars lingered of enormous energies expended and horrendous damage given and taken. Bodies lay among the rocks — slain Stormriders that she stepped right over. Their armour appeared to be a mixture of their sorcerous scaled ice over mundane materials such as shell, cold- forged copper, and exotic hides. They were fair, with pale hair. The characteristic features she saw among the corpses reminded her of the Tiste Andii.
The three reached the top and here Blues called to her. She stepped out of her Warren right next to him. He gestured ahead. Dead Korelri Stormguard were piled before the single, now blasted open, doorway to the tower. ‘Anyone?’ he asked, raising his chin to the tower.
She studied it from her Warren. ‘No. None remain alive within.’
Fingers appeared, gestured, Sighted.
They closed on the tower wall, slid along around it. There, down the slope at an open sorcerous gateway into a roiling greyish Warren — Chaos? — the Disavowed. She recognized the Dal Hon mage Mara with her piled curled mane of hair, and Shijel, who favoured two swords and always fancied himself a match for Blues. More ducked through the gate, disappearing even as she watched.
But last, in his long coat-like glittering black armour, Skinner, holding a chest bound all in silver fittings.
Bars charged out from cover, bounding in great running leaps from boulder to boulder down the slope like some sort of hunting cat. ‘Skinnerrrrrr!’ he roared as he went.
‘Bars!’ Blues yelled, then, ‘Shit!’ And ran out after him. They all followed, clambering pell-mell down the rugged bare rocks.
Skinner’s helmed head snapped round, then leaned back as the man laughed. ‘Bars! Is that you? You look like Hood’s own shit!’
Mara and Shijel paused, but Skinner motioned them in and they disappeared. He edged one step backwards, right to the lip of the flickering portal, while Bars closed. The helm cocked as the man judged his timing. ‘Lost them all, did you, Bars?’ he called. ‘Always were murder on your people…’ and, laughing, he stepped back, disappearing just as Bars came crashing down on the spot.
The gateway snapped away with a rush of air. Bars lay writhing at the water’s edge, snarling, striking the stones. They joined him there, weapons bared, Shell’s heart hammering. Skinner! From her Warren the man’s aura had appeared even stronger than the last time. As for the chest… the quickest snatched glimpse of the astounding potency carried within still left glowing afterimages in her vision.
‘What damned Warren was that?’ Bars snarled from where he lay.
‘The Crippled God’s,’ Shell said. ‘Skinner’s thrown in with him. The Dragons Deck readers claim that the Fallen God has made him King of his new house, the House of Chains.’
Bars pushed himself up, hugging his chest, anguish twisting his face. ‘He’s his errand boy too.’
‘What’s with the chest?’ Lazar asked.
‘A fragment of the entity charading as the Lady,’ said Shell.
‘A fragment?’ Blues repeated, alarmed. ‘As in the other name for the Crippled God… the Shattered God?’
Fingers sat heavily on a boulder. ‘Shit!’
Shell stared across the dark waters of the small crater lake surrounding this isle, to the near-black cloud cover obscuring the night sky, without seeing any of it. All that strength collected by the Crippled God. Added to him! What have they allowed here? What further catastrophes may very well be laid at their feet? She shook her head in mute denial.
Lazar cleared his throat. ‘We should go.’
Blues blinked, shaking off his thoughts. ‘Yeah. We’ll go get Corlo and Jemain.’
‘K’azz must be told of this,’ Shell said.
But Bars waved a negative. ‘Not our fight. We just want Skinner.’
‘K’azz will decide,’ Blues said, finishing the matter, and he waved everyone to him.
Moments later the isle was empty but for the hundreds of corpses, silent but for the ragged surf surging over the rocks. Then kites and crows assembled wheeling overhead, gathering from all around, while an army of white crabs came scrabbling and feeling their way up among the rocks.
EPILOGUE
Suthlay in his hammock and luxuriated in three consecutive days of relative inactivity — other than repairing his gear, and the usual make-work of cleaning the vessel. He was on board the Velenth, a Roolian merchantman commandeered for transport. The reassembled Malazan expeditionary force was returning to Quon Tali, and Command had yet to get round to formally reassigning him, Goss, Keri and Wess. He lay, an arm over his eyes, and tried to sleep while the great mass of vessels slowly made its way back through Black Water Strait.
He’d almost succeeded when Sergeant Goss’ voice rumbled: ‘Your presence is requested up top,’ and the man yanked his leg.
Suth fumbled to regard his sergeant: the man was up again now that the few healers they had could access their Warrens. ‘What? Not more damned scrubbing, please.’
But the sergeant looked more serious that he had in days. ‘The High Mage is here. She has some questions for you.’
Suth stilled, knowing the instinctive nervousness every trooper feels when the high and mighty take an interest. ‘What about?’
‘Can’t say.’
‘Did she question you?’
‘Yes.’
‘And?’
The man gave a negative shake of the head. ‘Don’t think I’m stupid enough to dick with a High Mage’s inquiry. Now let’s go.’
Suth pulled on his boots and, hunched over in the cramped quarters, made his way through the maze of hammocks to the companionway. Up top it was still cold, but the air did not have the ruthless bite it used to. It was the wind that made one shiver. The massed cloud cover was still thick, but breaks were appearing, widening the farther south they went. Goss walked Suth to where the High Mage waited next to the ship’s side. With her was the unmistakable figure of the tall and broad Captain Peles, unarmoured in her long padded aketon and leather trousers.
The two were in plain view as all the troopers crammed on to the undersized vessel kept a respectful distance, as did all the sailors passing to and fro in their running of the ship. Suth was quite tense; everyone was full of the High Mage’s accomplishments: single-handedly breaking the shore defences during the landing, saving the fleet from the titanic sea-wave. It seemed the Empire had finally once more found a mage worthy of the title.
