Orb Sceptre Throne

‘Let Orchid here try,’ he called to her.

She shook her head. ‘We’ve all tried. Not even those two could manage.’ She gestured to Bauchelain and his obese companion.

‘What’s to lose?’ He helped Orchid forward.

Though obviously sceptical, Seris still helped make room before the doors. Orchid turned to Antsy. ‘What do I-’

‘Just push,’ he told her impatiently.

‘Fine!’ Piqued, she threw her weight against the doors.

They swung open smoothly and silently. The gang of mages, mercenaries and servants half tumbled, tripping over each other, into the throne room.

‘Cover the doors!’ Sergeant Girth bellowed as he brought up the rear with the remaining Malazan marines. Corien and the mercenaries backed them up.

Antsy peered about. It was a smaller chamber. Circular, domed ceiling. He’d never been in a throne room proper so he didn’t know if this was how they were supposed to look. But this one had more of the feel of a shrine. It even had some sort of an inner arc of pillars surrounding … nothing, as far as he could make out.

‘Aiiya!’ Hesta screeched. ‘I see no throne. We are betrayed!’

‘Quiet,’ Seris commanded as she scanned the room. ‘You, Orchid, what now?’

Orchid did not answer. She had crossed to the rear wall behind the arc of slim stone pillars. Antsy went to her. She was studying a painting on the wall: a long broad fresco that ran all round this wide niche. He took her arm. ‘Orchid.’

‘Stunning …’ she breathed, intent.

‘Orchid!’

She turned to him. ‘Just as the legends portray,’ and she gestured to the fresco.

Antsy spared it a glance: a dark outdoor night-time scene under stars. Some sort of lit parade or procession approaching, light shafting in after it.

‘The Great Union.’

‘What?’

‘The marriage of Night and Light.’

Antsy took a step backwards. Fener’s balls! That’s … terrifying.

Further shudders shook the chamber. The reports of falling rock burst from nearby. The floor canted to a slightly sharper angle.

An orange flame-like light burst to life. ‘Attend!’ Hesta yelled. She had raised an arm and her hand was aflame as a burning brand. ‘No more delay. We must escape now! Where is …’ Her voice dwindled away as she stared down.

Antsy pushed forward through the ring of gathered mages. At their feet lay a rectangle flush with the floor at the centre of the pillars. While all the chamber was now lit this rectangle remained as utterly night black as a solid pool of pitch. Oddly enough, though the floor was angled, the surface of the darkness remained flush within its containment.

‘The Throne?’ Ogule offered.

‘Shut up!’ Hesta snapped.

‘Well, a throne,’ Seris murmured.

‘A gate,’ Bauchelain said.

Giggling, the man’s companion, Korbal, Antsy assumed, knelt to thrust an arm in. His pudgy hand met some sort of barrier just beneath the surface of night. He snarled his frustration.

The noise of battle at the door died away and everyone turned to look. ‘What is going on?’ the old mage, Hemper, yelled.

‘They’ve backed off,’ Girth shouted. ‘Someone’s coming. Someone … Sacred shit! ’

‘I must open it,’ Orchid said, musing, as if dreaming.

‘Well — do so!’ Hesta screeched.

She knelt and passed a hand over the rectangle. ‘I’m not sure …’ she began, just touching the rippling liquid- like barrier. Then she fell in. Or was grabbed. Or sucked. But she suddenly disappeared without a splash into the murk as if it were a pool of black water. Antsy stared, stunned. Was that supposed to happen?

‘The way appears open,’ Seris remarked.

‘Then now is the time,’ Ogule murmured, and he smiled, dimpling.

A blazing pain lanced Antsy’s back. He clutched there and found the hilt of a dagger. Turning, he saw Jallin dancing away. ‘Gonna die!’ the youth sang as he backed off. Antsy took a step to follow him but something was wrong and he staggered, almost falling.

Behind him chaos erupted. Flames burst to life. Someone shrieked. He heard the old man Hemper bellow: ‘You will not profane it!’

Whadaya know, Antsy thought as the floor came up to hit him, the old guy’s a priest of darkness …

He slid down the canted floor, leaving a slick of gleaming blood behind. He saw Seris, enveloped in black fire, writhing nearby; he saw the weeping servant of Bauchelain struggling to push a huge piece of luggage up the tilted floor to reach the Throne; he saw the Malazans retreating from the door as some half-dozen masked Seguleh pushed through. So that was what Girth had seen …

Corien knelt before him. ‘Antsy! Who …?’ The lad tried to move him but the pain almost blacked him out.

‘No … Go,’ he managed through clenched teeth.

Then Malakai was there. ‘I’m sorry for you, soldier. But Orchid has succeeded. We have our exit. The paths to the Warrens are open now through the Throne.’ He touched Antsy’s shoulder just briefly. ‘And I repay my debts. Farewell.’

Gods take it! Even Malakai thinks I’m done for! How do you like that? Spend my whole life avoiding all the traps the world throws at me and now that death themselves tell me to live — I don’t last five minutes! Fucking comedy, that is. Sink the Spawn with my one munition then get back-stabbed by some skulking alley rat! Gods. Mallet’s gonna be so damned mad at me.

He watched while Malakai helped up the very rat himself, Jallin. As he did so, he even slipped something into the lad’s pack that may have fallen out. Then he climbed lizard-like up the tilting floor to reach the Throne and pulled himself in to disappear without a ripple.

Bastard! I’ll kill him, I swear.

Together Hesta and Ogule managed to overpower Hemper. Some arcane magic from the fat Ogule made the fellow cough up his lungs in a bloody spray of tattered flesh. Seris gathered herself in one snarling feral leap to reach the lip of the Throne and heave herself in.

‘You!’ a Seguleh ordered, pointing at Jallin. ‘You will surrender it now!’

The youth’s eyes grew as huge as saucers and he scrambled to hide behind Hesta and Ogule. The two mages struggled to push him from them. The Seguleh drew their swords in one single hiss, following. The lad dodged behind all the mages to squeeze between the Malazans and disappear. Two Seguleh gave chase.

Antsy watched, hardly able to breathe, while the pale grinning companion of Bauchelain, Korbal, actually approached one of the remaining Seguleh. He laid a hand on his arm and whispered something. A sword flashed and Korbal disappeared with a yelp that transformed into a squawk. A large black crow flew off through the doors.

Having reached the Throne, Bauchelain sighed and allowed himself to slide down the floor. He dusted himself, straightening. ‘Come, Emancipor,’ he called, and set off after his companion. The Malazans parted to allow them to pass.

The mercenary Heels now scrambled to Antsy. The two younger ones tried to lift him but he cried out in agony. He could feel the blade scraping his spine. He fought to hang on to consciousness.

‘I’m sorry,’ someone said, the lad, Corien. A squeeze of his shoulder, then nothing. His last sight was of the Malazans lying flat on the polished floor, which was angled now as steep as a wall, climbing up one another for the Throne. Behind them water now swirled past the doors in a churning gyre of bodies and debris.