Orb Sceptre Throne

Jan could not get used to being confronted wherever he turned by near replicas of the Legate’s gold mask. The ladies of the court held theirs on long gold stems that they raised to their faces. The men’s rested on the bridges of their noses, held there by fine thread that ran behind their heads.

Part of Jan wished to slap them all off. Just as he still could not help twitching upon meeting so many directly challenging, even haughty, stares from armed men.

These are no longer your people, his inner voice said to him. These are no longer your ways.

Across the court Palla, the Sixth, signed to him: Any word?

None.

It has been long.

The mountains are vast.

The Moranth have never been shy.

True. A tentative throat-clearing at his side. Jan turned, knowing who to expect: the Mouthpiece. ‘Yes?’

‘A word, Second.’

They crossed to the edge of the court where a pillared colonnade stretched all along one wall. It was the favoured locale for much whispering. ‘Yes?’

‘Send a runner to your people in the south. Have them all relocate here to the city.’

Jan’s gaze snapped to the masked figure on his throne, his hands resting lightly atop a white stone armrest to either side. ‘All?’

‘Yes. All. It seems strange notions and distortions have crept into your teachings over the years. It would be best if I took over all future training.’

‘You,’ Jan said, his gaze fixed on the broad oval mask.

‘Yes.’

Jan nearly fainted in the animal urge to draw and slice. No! The burden is yours! Endure! He allowed himself a shuddering intake of breath while his eyes slitted almost closed. ‘Very well,’ he grated through clenched jaws. ‘It shall be as you order.’

‘Of course.’ The Mouthpiece, Jan noted, appeared more sweaty and pallid than ever before.

He turned his back, signing to Palla: We must talk.

At a side entrance he came to the two private guards. Seeing him, they jumped to attention, saluting. ‘Don’t you worry there, sir,’ one said, ‘we’ll keep a watch out. Ain’t that so, Scorch?’ He elbowed his companion.

‘Yessir.’ The other winced, blinking his bloodshot eyes.

Jan swept past without answer. Odd that the Legate should want these two here. But, as he had read, every court has its fools.

He waited in his quarters for Palla to find a moment to excuse herself. Eventually the door quickly opened and was just as swiftly shut. What now? she signed.

‘He would have us all here. All our people.’

‘That cannot be allowed,’ she answered, her mask averted.

‘No. It cannot. We do not belong here.’ Something shook him then. Something arising from the base of his spine and low in his stomach. He shuddered as it clenched his throat and he fought it with hands clamped to his sides. Was this weakness? Is this the gathering wail of despair? ‘I am so sorry.’ The words seemed to escape of their own accord. ‘This is all my doing.’

She drew close, almost raising her mask to gaze up at him. ‘No! You did as any Second would have. The call came and you answered. There is no error in that. It is this place,’ she went on, fierce. ‘Here. Darujhistan. It is no longer worthy of us.’

Jan groaned. Oh, the loftiness of pride! No longer worthy of us? Or are we simply … obsolete?

‘What should we do?’

‘When the others return I will reinstitute the Exile.’

‘Gall will challenge.’

‘That is his right.’

‘We must not allow that. He must be stopped before he can-’

‘Palla! Listen to yourself. And we worry about perversion of our ways?’

She touched his arm, lightly, as if frightened that he would brush her hand aside. ‘But what if he …’

‘What if he wins?’

She whispered a faint ‘Yes’.

He crooked his lips. ‘Is your estimation of my abilities so low?’

She ducked, genuinely hurt, and he winced inwardly. ‘I see how all this weighs upon you,’ she breathed.

He touched her arm. ‘I only jest. If he should best me then he deserves the victory.’

Her grip tightened. ‘Then do not force me to wade through the Fourth and Third to reach him.’

‘I will go peacefully knowing you would avenge me, Palla.’

‘You know,’ she said, after a brief silence, ‘the others will note our absence, and …’

‘… there will be much wagging of tongues in the dormitory.’ He allowed his fingertips to trace a line down her taut arm. ‘Another reason to hope for better times, Palla.’

She returned the gesture, sending a shiver through his flesh. ‘Let us hope, then.’

‘Yes.’ He opened the door. ‘In the meantime …’

Stepping out to the hall she murmured low, ‘We delay.’

Antsy came to, coughing up a great gout of water followed all too swiftly by the contents of his stomach. On his side, his face pressed into dirt, he groaned, his stomach still cramping. A great shout of surprise sounded then and hands grasped at him.

‘You’re alive!’ Orchid cried.

‘We thought you dead,’ Corien said, amazed.

He merely groaned again, dry-heaving. ‘What in the Abyss happened?’ he managed, spitting.

‘You ought to ask these gentlemen,’ Corien said.

Antsy peered up. It was still as dark as the inside of a barrel, but his mage-vision allowed him to see that they occupied what appeared to be a meadow surrounded by a thick forest, its boughs windswept. Starry night arched above, empty of any greenish glow.

With him were Orchid and Corien, yes, but also the three mercenaries, the Heels, and about ten or so Malazan marines including Sergeant Girth. But what captured his attention were the six Seguleh standing about him, water dripping from their leathers.

‘Where’s the Hood-damned menagerie of mages?’

‘All fled as soon as they could,’ said Orchid.

‘Even Malakai?’

Corien nodded. ‘Even him.’

‘Well … how do you like that. Not even a by-your-leave.’ He eyed the Seguleh. ‘Who’s the spokesman here?’

‘I,’ said one.

‘Right.’ He gestured for Corien to help him up. ‘So, what happened?’

‘We returned to the Throne as soon as we were able. You were in our way so we merely pushed you through with us.’

‘Well … my thanks.’

‘We did not intend to save your life — we thought you dead.’

Antsy waved a hand. ‘I said thanks!’ He held his head, grimacing. ‘Leave it at that. Gods.’

He faced Orchid. ‘So. Where are we?’

‘Isn’t that obvious?’ She turned a full circle, arms raised to the night sky. ‘Kurald Galain. Elder Night.’

‘We shouldn’t be here. We have to go. Right away.’

‘And go where?’ Girth demanded, pushing forward blindly. Antsy realized that none of the others could see a thing. ‘Just where would you suggest? And how? And who’s gonna send us? All the mages have scarpered. We’re