Orb Sceptre Throne

the base?

At other times they shook him from his tortured nightmare trance to perform tasks for them. The girl — though hardly a girl, Taya — always accompanied him. He helped oversee the salvaging of these very stone blocks being taken from the city mole. He hired craftsmen, answered queries. In short, he was the human face before the operations these fiends wished to complete.

And all the while he was powerless to speak of any of it. He tried — gods, how he fought to utter a word of objection or defiance! But the moment he contemplated such rebellion his mouth and throat constricted as if throttled. Not even his hands would cooperate to scrawl a plea for help. And so, like a prisoner within his own skull, he could only watch and speculate.

Whatever these fiends planned, it reached back all the way to their internment. A resurrection of their rule as one of the legendary Tyrants. Yet why the elaborate charade? Why wait to declare their return? Why the mask? Ebbin was frustrated beyond measure by the mystery. He felt that he had almost all the pieces, yet arranging a meaningful pattern defied him.

One strange moment seemed to almost shock him out of his fugue. He was working in the tent on the salvage site near the shore at the base of Majesty Hill when someone stopped before his table and spoke to him. He looked up from the wage lists, blinking, to see a dark muscled fellow with a wide mane of black hair peering down at him; startling honest concern creased the man’s features. ‘Yes …?’

‘Are you sure you are all right?’ the fellow asked.

Something squeezed Ebbin’s chest painfully — and it was no outside coercion from the masked fiend. He fought to find his voice. ‘Yes … yes. Thank you.’ Emboldened, he took another breath.

‘Your name …?’

‘Barathol Mekhar.’

Ebbin searched his mental lists, found the man. Foreigner, skilled, unregistered blacksmith. Something in that sketch moved him to lurch forward, saying, ‘You have to-’ Then came the clenching fist at his throat. He struggled to continue, even to breathe.

The man’s puzzled concern returned. ‘Yes?’

Then Taya was there at his side to wrap an arm about his shoulders, and squeeze, painfully. ‘My uncle has a lot on his mind,’ she explained sweetly. ‘He is ashamed. He gambled, you see. And he lost. He lost everything.’ She squeezed him again, digging in the nails of a hand. ‘Isn’t that so, Uncle?’

Ebbin could only nod his sunken head.

‘Well,’ the man said, his voice gruff but gentle, ‘I understand. I was just saying that I could set up a smithing station here for your needs. Sharpening tools, forging items.’

‘Yes,’ Taya said. ‘That would be excellent. Thank you. I believe we will have need of that.’

After one last warning clasp she watched while the man moved off, then she left Ebbin to pick up his stylus and return to his record-keeping.

Antsy and Corien led the way out of Pearl Town, as Panar had named it. Malakai immediately slipped away without a word. Ashamed to be seen with the likes of us, Antsy grumbled to himself. Progress was slow, as they elected to travel with no light at all. Orchid murmured directions from close behind. Despite the girl’s descriptions of the way ahead Antsy kept crashing into walls in the pitch black. And Corien limped, unsteady, grunting his pain, his breathing wet and laboured.

‘I see them,’ Orchid announced after they’d walked a maze of narrow streets. ‘Stairs, ahead.’

Antsy let out a snort of disgust. Just great — climbing blasted stairs in the dark!

‘They’re very broad. Open on the right. They climb a cliff up and up … Great Mother — so high!’

In the dark Antsy rolled his eyes. Wonderful. Absolute night all around and a drop-off. Couldn’t get any better. ‘Malakai?’

‘No sign.’

Gettin’ too casual, he is. Antsy’s right foot banged up against the riser of the first stair and he tumbled forward on to them. He dropped his sword and scraped a shin, cursing. The blade clanged from the stone steps like anvils falling in the dark.

‘Sorry, Red,’ Orchid offered, sounding embarrassed.

Antsy just cursed under his breath. Corien almost fell over him as he felt his way forward in the black ink. Fucking band of travelling harlequins, we are. Just missing the floppy hats.

Orchid grasped his arm to help him up and he almost yanked it free.

‘Keep tight to the left,’ she suggested. ‘Single file … I guess.’

‘I’ll go first,’ Antsy said. Then he froze, his lips clenching tight. ‘Orchid — where’s my Hood-damned sword?’

‘Oh! Sorry.’ She pressed it to his hand. He snapped it up, grated a sullen, ‘Thanks.’

Can’t even find my own damned sword! Useless! Completely useless!

Up they went, sliding along the smooth left wall. The staircase was quite broad, with shallow risers only a hand’s breadth or so in height. Luckily the natural list of the Spawn tilted forward and to the left. If it had leaned the other way he didn’t think they could have managed. A gathering warm breeze dried the sweat on the nape of his neck and pressed against his back as the air pushed in around him, rushing up this access. Just warm air rising? Or something more … worrisome? He couldn’t be sure.

‘Feel that wind?’ Corien asked from the dark.

‘So pleasant for a change,’ Orchid answered.

Antsy said nothing.

Finally, Orchid ordered a stop. ‘Something’s ahead. Doors. Broken doors. Stone. Very thick. Looks like we can get through, though.’ Antsy grunted his understanding. ‘Careful now. Slow.’

Antsy and Corien felt their way over shards of shattered rock, ducked under leaning eaves of larger fragments. The Darujhistani swordsman was stumbling more and more and Antsy found himself helping him constantly now. He whispered, ‘How’re you doing?’

‘Not so well, I’m afraid. Feeling weak.’

Antsy touched the back of a hand to the lad’s forehead: hot and slick with sweat. Maybe an infection. That blade or sharpened stick couldn’t have been too clean. ‘We have to stop,’ he said, louder.

‘Corien?’ Orchid asked. ‘It’s bad?’

‘My apologies. Not what I had in mind.’

‘Why didn’t you say so?’ she demanded, outraged. ‘I asked earlier!’

‘We couldn’t very well have stayed there,’ he said, tired and patient, ‘could we?’

‘There are rooms ahead,’ came Malakai’s voice from far to the fore.

Despite himself Antsy flinched at the sudden announcement from the dark. Hate it when he does that! ‘What’ve you been doing!’ he yelled back angrily.

‘Scouting,’ came the answer, much closer now. ‘Orchid, the hall goes on straight then there are multiple rooms to either side. Take one. We need to rest anyway.’

Antsy started forward, still helping Corien. ‘Any sign of the Malazans?’

‘No. None. No sign of anyone at all.’

‘Perhaps we should’ve brought that fellow Panar with us,’ Orchid said.

Antsy snorted. ‘What could he do for us?’

‘He knows his way around the Spawn. He could direct us.’

‘Almost all of what he told us was lies,’ Malakai said, dismissive.

‘How do you know?’

‘His story’s full of holes. How did he get away from the attacks he described? I wager he betrayed his comrades. Sold them out to save his skin.’

‘You don’t know that,’ said Orchid, outraged. ‘You weren’t there. Why assume that?’

‘Because of his other lies.’

‘What do you mean his other lies?’ she demanded, her voice getting even louder. ‘Stop making empty accusations. Either you know or you don’t.’

‘Leave it be,’ Antsy murmured. ‘I agree with him.’