Orb Sceptre Throne

put it? — blatant in their activities. Such as the Enchantress, the Queen of Dreams. Now, why should that be among such powerful entities? Anyway, who dare oppose them? Well, each other, of course. I believe Ascendancy is something of a struggle. A constant effort to assert one’s identity. An eternal reinscribing of what one is. And why? Because there are others out there, rivals, all vying for what are, after all, in the end, a very limited set of roles or identities.’

‘The Dragons Deck?’ Yusek said, drawn into the man’s discourse despite her impatience.

Bo nodded, impressed. ‘Yes. I believe the cards serve as one expression of these identities. There are many others, of course. And they are by no means exhaustive either. So too with godhead, I believe.’ He waved a stick as if to encompass the entire lowlands to the east. ‘Look at this ferment over the god of war. Who will it be in the end? Will its face be that of a beast? A wolf? Or some other? Who is to say? Only time will tell. But I digress.’

He set his elbows on his knees, examined the stick. ‘I say all this because there is a small retreat in these mountains. A monastery or sanctuary, call it what you will. Very small, very remote. There, it is rumoured, someone has taken up residence. Someone who may count among those few thrown up every hundred years or so who could achieve Ascendancy. Think of that!’ he breathed, almost in wonder. ‘An Ascendant of our age. Just as the Warlord, Caladan Brood, is of his distant age. A stunning thought.’

‘So where is it?’

‘Ah! Well. We have arrived at the crux of the problem.’ He squeezed the thin stick in his hands. ‘I don’t know if I should tell you.’

Yusek snorted her impatience. ‘You’ll tell them when they get here. Believe me.’

He blinked up at her, calmly. ‘No, I won’t, Yusek. What will they do? Do you think they will torture me the way Dernan did Lorkal?’

The idea disgusted her; as if he’d asked whether she would. He dared ask that after what happened to Lorkal? She stood to wave her dismissal. ‘Fine. We’ll just ask someone else.’ He started to speak but the boy and girl came bustling in carrying armloads of clothing. Bo dusted his hands, bowed to her, and left her to it.

Later she emerged warm and well insulated. Tall hide moccasins, their fleece turned inwards, rose to her knees over leather trousers. She had also put on multiple layers of shirts. Of what armour fit her, the best she could find was a heavy leather gambeson sewn with bands of what looked to be shaved horn and antler. Over that she’d pulled a thick wool cloak. A sheepskin hat and toughened hide gloves finished it all off.

She took a path at random, meaning to track down Sall. As she went she belted on the longsword she’d scavenged, leaving the two knives at her waist as well. Armed to the teeth now, she thought, adjusting the strange new weight on her left hip. Not that it’ll do me any good — don’t know how to use the damned thing.

She found Sall, his hood down, at a high point in the village, keeping watch. ‘Where’s Lo?’

‘On the path.’ Sall gave the slightest inclination of his masked head — the closest he came to pointing. ‘This village possesses an excellent defensive position. The path is its only entrance.’

Not that it did them any good. ‘What now?’

The mask shifted; brown eyes examined her. ‘You are recovered?’

‘A hot meal and I will be.’

‘Very good. Collect supplies and we will depart.’

She turned to go but stopped, thinking of something. ‘You saw Lorkal?’

‘Yes. We saw her.’

‘And — you killed Dernan?’

The mask tilted ever so slightly. The light played over its complex lines. ‘Which one of them was he?’

Great Goddess … Yusek waved it aside. ‘Never mind.’ She went to find Bo.

The mage was speaking to the rag-tag remnants of slaves and bondsmen Dernan had kept: youths, oldsters, a few women fat with child. People probably dragged off from all the caravans and traders he’d slaughtered. Bo appeared to be organizing them into packing everything up.

‘What’s this?’ Yusek asked.

The mage gave her an impatient look. ‘We can hardly just hang about waiting for the next gang of thuggish swordsmen to claim the place. Thanks to your Seguleh we’re utterly defenceless.’

‘Thanks to them you’re free!’

‘Free to be enslaved. Free to starve. Free to be abused or murdered at a whim. Yes. Freedom — rather more complicated in the concrete than the abstract, yes?’

Yusek just curled a lip. ‘Don’t play your word games with me. I’m not interested.’

‘The fate of someone unarmed, or alone, or unprepared, in this lawless wilderness is hardly a game.’

‘Fine. Whatever you say. Listen … I don’t know why I’m doing this because I really don’t give a damn … but take your troop south. You know Orbern’s hold? Orbern-town, he calls it.’

‘Yes? What of it? Why should I deliver these people and myself to yet another murderous petty warlord?’

Yusek exploded in laughter. ‘Old man … calling Orbern a warlord is like calling a grandmother a courtesan. He’s just not the right material. Go to him and say you’re settlers. Settlers come to Orbern-town. I swear, he’ll hug every one of you.’

Bo looked doubtful. ‘You’re quite certain …’

‘Absolutely. Now, we need two packs of supplies ourselves.’

‘I will see to it. We can manage that at least, I suppose. You are determined to head north, even further into the mountains?’

‘Yes.’

‘I see.’ The man was obviously struggling with something. He raised his face to the snow-clad mounts biting off the northern horizon, sighed, and nodded to himself. ‘Head north-west. Keep going higher, towards the coastal range.’

‘Thank you.’

Bo still appeared troubled. He ran his fingers through his thin beard. ‘Do you know who he is? This man?’

‘No.’

‘You would only know of him in one way, I think.’ He shifted his gaze, studying her. ‘As the slayer of Anomander Rake, Lord of Moon’s Spawn, and Son of Darkness.’

Yusek snorted her denial. ‘That’s impossible.’

‘No. It is he. They are seeking him. And for one purpose only that I can imagine.’

‘What?’

‘To challenge him, of course.’

Jeshin Lim, the Legate, was in special session together with his closest advisers and supporters among the councillors when yet another urgent communication arrived from the north. This newest information of events in Pale sent yet another round of confusion, denials and recriminations through the assembly. Jeshin, for his part, withdrew from the arguments, sitting back and turning in his hands a small curio, a delicate gold mask.

‘M’lord,’ Councillor Yost called, his voice deep and rumbling up from his great bulk. Then, louder, ‘Legate.’

Jeshin peered up, startled. ‘Yes?’

‘M’lord, this latest news is above reproach. A relation of our family who minds our interests there in the city has cultivated long-standing sources-’

‘Your interests,’ another councillor shouted.

Yost continued through gritted teeth: ‘These accounts corroborate earlier rumours. Some impostor is fomenting hostility, perhaps even war, between us.’

‘We cannot be certain,’ Jeshin said, eyeing the gold mask. ‘Who would gain from this?’

Yost swung out his thick arms. ‘Why, any number of parties! Even the Malazans-’

‘The Malazans have apparently been driven from Pale,’ cut in Councillor Berdand. ‘And they fled from here.’ He gave an exaggerated farewell wave. ‘Their star is falling. We have seen the last of those invaders.’