know,’ she said. ‘It seems… cruel.’
‘Power ever is, Seren Pedac.’
‘I won’t decide, then. Not yet.’
‘So be it.’
‘Seren?’ Kettle asked. ‘What is wrong with you?’
She smiled, then pushed herself to her feet, Udinaas-to her astonishment-reaching out to help her regain her balance.
Seeing her wince, he half smiled. ‘You landed hard, Acquitor. Can you walk?’ His smile broadened. ‘Perhaps no faster than the rest of us laggards, now?’
‘You, Udinaas? No, I think not.’
He frowned. ‘Just the two of us right now,’ he said.
Her eyes flickered up to meet his, shied away, then returned again-hard. ‘You heard?’
‘Didn’t need to,’ he replied under his breath as he set the Imass walking stick into her hands. ‘Had Wither sniffing at my heels long before I left the north.’ He shrugged.
Silchas Ruin and Clip had already resumed the journey.
Leaning on the Imass spear, Seren Pedac walked alongside the ex-slave, struggling with a sudden flood of emotion for this broken man. Perhaps, true comrades after all. He and I.
‘Seren Pedac’
‘Yes?’
‘Stop shifting the pain in your knees into mine, will you?’
Stop-what? Oh.
‘Either that or give me that damned stick back.’
‘If I say “sorry” then, well…’
‘You give it away. Well, say it if you mean it, and either way we’ll leave it at that.’
‘Sorry.’
His surprised glance delighted her.
The rising sea level had saturated the ground beneath the village. Anyone with half their wits would have moved to the stony, treed terrace bordering the flood plain, but the sordid remnants of the Shake dwelling here had simply levered their homes onto stilts and raised the slatted walkways, living above fetid, salty bog crawling with the white-backed crabs known as skullcaps.
Yan Tovis, Yedan Derryg and the troop of lancers reined in at Road’s End, the ferry landing and its assorted buildings on their left, a mass of felled trees rotting into the ground on their right. The air was chill, colder than it should have been this late into spring, and tendrils of low-lying fog hid most of the salt marsh beneath the stilts and bridged walkways.
Among the outbuildings of the landing-all situated on higher ground-there was a stone-walled stable fronted by a courtyard of planed logs, and beyond that, facing the village, an inn without a name.
Dismounting, Yan Tovis stood beside her horse for a long moment, her eyes closing. We have been invaded. I should be riding to every garrison on this coast-Errant fend, they must know by now. Truth delivered the hard way. The empire is at war.
But she was now Queen of the Last Blood, Queen of the Shake. Opening her weary eyes she looked upon the decrepit fishing village. My people, Errant help me. Running away had made sense back then. It made even more sense now.
Beside her, Yedan Derryg, her half-brother, loosened the strap of his visored helm, then said, ‘Twilight, what now?’
She glanced over at him, watched the rhythmic bunching of his bearded jaw. She understood the question in all its ramifications. What now? Do the Shake proclaim their independence, rising eager in the chaos of a Malazan- Letherii war? Do we gather our arms, our young whom we would call soldiers? The Shake cry out their liberty, and the sound is devoured by the shore’s rolling surf.
She sighed. ‘I was in command on the Reach, when the Edur came in their ships. We surrendered. I surrendered.’
To do otherwise would have been suicidal. Yedan should have said those words, then. For he knew the truth of them. Instead, he seemed to chew again for a moment, before turning to squint at the flat, broad ferry. ‘That’s not slipped its mooring in some time, I think. The coast north of Awl must be flooded.’
He gives me nothing. ‘We shall make use of it, all the way out to Third Maiden Fort.’
A nod.
‘Before that, however, we must summon the witches and warlocks.’
‘You’ll find most of them huddled in the village yonder, Queen. And Pully and Skwish will have announced your return. Taloned toes are tapping the floorboards, I would wager.’
‘Go down there,’ she commanded, facing the inn. ‘Escort them back here-I will be in the tavern.’
‘And if the tavern is not big enough?’
An odd concern. She began walking towards the entrance. ‘Then they can perch on shoulders like the crows they are, Yedan.’
‘Twilight.’
She half turned.
Yedan was tightening the straps of his helm once again. ‘Do not do it.’
‘Do not do what?’
‘Send us to war, sister.’
She studied him.
But he said nothing more, and a moment later he had turned away and set off down towards the village.
She resumed her walk, while her soldiers led the mounts towards the stable, the beasts’ hoofs slipping on the slick logs of the courtyard. They had ridden hard, these last horses drawn from a virtually empty garrison fort just north of Tulamesh-reports of bandits had sent the squads into the countryside and they’d yet to return. Yan Tovis believed they would never do so.
At the entranceway she paused, looking down at the slab of stone beneath her boots, on which were carved Shake runes.
‘This Raised Stone honours Teyan Atovis, Rise, who was claimed by the Shore 1113th Year of the Isle. Slain by the Letherii for Debts Unremitted.’
Yan Tovis grunted. One of her kin, no less, dead a thousand years now. ‘Well, Teyan,’ she muttered, ‘you died of drink, and now your stone straddles the threshold of a tavern.’ True, some list of mysterious, crushing debts had invited his ignoble fall to alcohol and misery, but this grand commemoration had taken a slanted view on the hands guiding the man’s fate. And now… Brullyg would be Rise. Will you wear the crown as well as Teyan did?
She pushed open the door and strode inside.
The low-ceilinged room was crowded, every face turned to her.
A familiar figure pushed into view, her face a mass of wrinkles twisted into a half-smile.
‘Pully,’ Twilight said, nodding. ‘I have just sent the Watch down to the village to find you.’
‘Be well he’ll find Skwish and a score others. They be well weaving cob to web on th’ close sea beyond the shore, Queen, an’ all the truths writ there. Strangers-’
‘I know,’ Yan Tovis interjected, looking past the old hag and scanning the other witches and warlocks, the Shoulderfolk of the Old Ways. Their eyes glittered in the smoky gloom, and Twilight could now smell these Shake elders-half-unravelled damp wool and patchy sealskin, fish-oil and rank sweat, the breath coming from mouths dark with sickened gums or rotting teeth.
If there was a proprietor to this tavern he or she had fled. Casks had been broached and tankards filled with pungent ale. A huge pot of fish soup steamed on the centre hearth and there were countless gourd-shell bowls scattered on the tables. Large rats waddled about on the filthy floor.
Far more witches than warlocks, she noted. This had been a discernible trend among the demon-kissed- fewer and fewer males born bearing the accepted number of traits; most were far too demonic. More than two hundred of the Shoulderfolk. Gathered here.
‘Queen,’ Pully ventured, ducking her head. ‘Cob to web, all of Shake blood know that you now rule. Barring them that’s on the Isle, who only know that your mother’s dead.’
