Orb ,Sceptre ,Throne

outvoted. The young bloods want to prove themselves. And being the aggressive faction — they won the day.’ His hands knotted at his belt. ‘At least that is how it had better have been. Otherwise …’ He shook the great mane about his head and gestured to the creek. ‘In the meantime let’s try and catch some fish.’

In the end, it was Tserig who caught them. Wading along the shore, robes pulled high up over his skinny shanks, he scared two whiskered bottom-feeders into the shallows and Torvald scooped them up. They skewered them over flames, and after the meal, the noise of hooves announced the approach of riders. Rising, Caladan pulled his hands through his thick beard then wiped them on his trousers. Torvald helped Tserig to his feet. ‘My thanks,’ the man murmured. ‘My joints are not what they used to be. Though I’ll have you know my prick is just fine.’

Torvald clamped his teeth together against a choking laugh. ‘That … is … encouraging news, Elder.’

The old man gummed his mouth, nodding. ‘It should be!’

The riders were Rhivi warriors finely accoutred in mail and enamelled leather armour with skirtings that hung down the sides of their mounts. Torvald recognized these men and women as the cream of the Rhivi’s leading clans. The foremost rider drew off his helmet to nod to Caladan. His thin beard was braided, as was his long black hair.

‘Warlord. To what do we owe this honour … again?’

‘Jiwan. I am here to ask you one last time to put down the spear. No good will come of it, only suffering and tears. Think of your people — the lives that will be lost.’

The young commander nodded thoughtfully, frowning. ‘I hear your words, Warlord, and I honour you for your past leadership and wisdom. But these words are not those of a war leader. They are the words of an old man who has lost a great friend. A mourning elder who looks at life only to see death. Such a dark vision must not guide a people. We who see life, who look ahead to the future, we must lead. And so, Caladan … I ask that you stand aside.’

‘Pretty words, Jiwan,’ Brood answered, unruffled by the young man’s dismissal. ‘I see now how you turned the heads of the Circle of Elders. But I do not think I will stand aside. I think I will block this bridge to you and all those foolish enough to follow anyone hypocritical — or inexperienced — enough to speak of life while going to war.’

Torvald’s mood had fallen from uncomfortable to distinctly exposed here on the open bridge as more and more of the Rhivi cavalry, mixed medium and light, came trotting down the shallow valley. He felt like an interloper among the negotiations of a war leader who had dominated the north for decades, and had led the resistance there against the invading Malazans. Now to be dismissed in such an ignoble and off-handed manner! It grated against his instincts. To so blindly dismiss the hard-learned wisdom of centuries!

The young war leader’s gaze now found Torvald. He raised his chin. ‘You are this Darujhistani emissary, Torvald, Nom of Nom?’

Torvald bowed from the waist. ‘I am he.’

‘What think you of this man’s position here?’

‘I think it … rather unassailable.’

A scornful smile drew back the youth’s lips. ‘Strange words from an emissary of Darujhistan when all the others are so eager for Malazan blood.’

‘What’s that?’ Caladan growled, his voice suddenly low and menacing.

The war leader seemed to believe he had scored a point and he nodded his assurances. ‘Oh, yes. The city is with us. We have the fullest intelligence from them. For example, the remnant fleeing just before us number less than twelve hundreds, while our numbers swell with every passing day. Soon we shall reach thirty thousands! And your Legate, Nom of Nom, promises aid during the engagement. Obviously he too recognizes the threat these Malazans pose.’ Jiwan sat up taller in his saddle. He raised his voice to be heard by the surrounding riders. ‘Now is our chance to rid our lands of the invader! They are weak. Leaderless. Few in number. Now is our best chance and perhaps our only chance! We must strike now! While we are assembled! The gods have handed us this opportunity. We must not let it slip away out of fear.’

‘Your words lack respect!’ Tserig called suddenly. ‘They displease the ancestors.’ The Elder pointed to Caladan. ‘This man sheltered Silverfox the Liberator! The gift of the Mhybe!’

The war leader bowed his head in acknowledgement. ‘True. But where is the miraculous Silverfox now?’ He turned in his saddle to shout: ‘She has abandoned us!’

‘Enough!’ Caladan bellowed. So strong was the yell that Torvald felt the bridge judder beneath his feet. ‘Enough talk. Jiwan, this bridge is closed to you.’

Exaggerated regret drew the war leader’s mouth down. He shook his head. ‘Caladan, it is sad to see you reduced to such petty gestures.’ He pointed to the shallow waterway. ‘You accomplish nothing. We will merely ride through the creek.’

Caladan crossed his arms. ‘You are welcome to do so. You are much overdue, I think, for getting muddy.’

Jiwan merely clamped his lips shut. Yanking on his reins he waved for the cavalry to go round. Torvald watched while the columns passed to either side of the bridge. Some refused to acknowledge the Warlord or glance his way, while the lingering eyes of others held sadness, regret, and even guilt.

It was many hours before the last of the riders passed. Above, the mottled moon and the Scimitar cast bright competing shadows while threads of clouds passed between them. Caladan finally let out a long breath. ‘A large force,’ he admitted. ‘Every clan represented.’

‘They smell blood,’ Tserig agreed.

‘Malazan blood.’

‘What will you do now?’ Torvald asked.

The huge man uncrossed his arms and shifted his stance. The logs of the bridge creaked beneath their feet. ‘I warned your Legate not to interfere in this. But he has defied me. Whipped the Rhivi on to the Malazans. All Jiwan sees is the glory of being the war leader who defeats the Malazans. He doesn’t see that Rhivi blood is simply ridding this creature of his enemies for him.’

‘I’ll go back, then,’ Torvald said, certain of what he should do. ‘Speak against this.’

The man’s tangled brows rose. ‘Great Burn, no, lad. You’ll be killed out of hand. No. I’m going. I intend to take this Legate by the neck and let him know of my displeasure.’

Suddenly Torvald felt rather afraid for his city. There were stories of this man — this Ascendant — levelling mountains in the north. ‘You won’t …’ he began, only to pause as he realized he wasn’t sure what he intended to say. Won’t destroy the city?

The man smiled his reassurance. ‘Only this Legate troubles me. I am sorry, Torvald Nom, but all is not as you think in your home. I suspect something is controlling Lim, or he has struck a bargain where he should not have.’

Something strange going on? What is strange about Lim’s having resurrected an ancient reviled title? Or started wearing a gold mask? There is nothing strange in that.

‘Tserig,’ Caladan continued, ‘would you re-join Jiwan’s forces? If things go badly there will be a need for your voice.’

‘I understand, Warlord.’

Caladan regarded Torvald, stroked his beard. ‘Perhaps if you accompanied me you would be safe enough.’

Tor thought about the offer but realized that there might be something else he could do. Something perhaps only he could do. ‘No.’

Caladan stopped to turn, frowning. ‘No?’

‘No. The Moranth withdrew when they sensed something was happening. And here we are in the shadows of their mountains. I’ll … I’ll go to them.’

‘Torvald Nom, that is an extraordinary offer. But no one has ever succeeded in reaching them in their mountain strongholds. They speak to no one. I’ve heard that only the Emperor and Dancer ever managed to sneak into Cloud Forest.’

‘They will speak to me.’

The Ascendant eyed him while he pulled at his beard. He was obviously curious as to the source of Torvald’s certainty, but refrained from challenging it. He grunted instead, nodding. ‘Very well. I wish there was some help I could offer.’