House of Chains

The forest was filled with ruins. Crumbled, moss-covered, often little more than overgrown heaps, but it was evident to Cutter as he padded along the narrow, faint trail Apsalar had described for him that this forest had risen from the heart of a dead city-a huge city, dominated by massive buildings. Pieces of statuary lay scattered here and there, figures of enormous stature, constructed in sections and fixed together with a glassy substance he did not recognize. Although mostly covered in moss, he suspected the figures were Edur.

An oppressive gloom suffused all that lay beneath the forest canopy. A number of living trees showed torn bark, and while the bark was black, the smooth, wet wood underneath was blood red. Fallen companions revealed that the fierce crimson turned black with death. The wounded upright trees reminded Cutter of Darist-of the Tiste Andu’s black skin and the deep red cuts slashing through it.

He found he was shivering in the damp air as he padded along. His left arm was now entirely useless, and though he had retrieved his knives-including the broken-tipped one-he doubted that he would be able to put up much of a fight should the need arise.

He could make out his destination directly ahead. A mound of rubble, pyramidal and particularly large, its summit sunbathed. There were trees on its flanks, but most were dead in the strangling grip of vines. A gaping hole of impenetrable darkness yawned from the side nearest Cutter.

He slowed, then, twenty paces from the cave, halted. What he was about to do ran against every instinct. ‘Malazans!’ he called out, then winced at his own loudness. But the Edur are closing on the Throne- no-one nearby to hear me. I hope. ‘I know you are within! I would speak with you!’

Figures appeared at the flanking edges of the cave, two on each side, crossbows cocked and trained on Cutter. Then, from the centre, emerged three more, two women and a man. The woman on the left gestured and said, ‘Come closer, hands out to your sides.’

Cutter hesitated, then stretched out his right hand. ‘My left arm won’t lift, I’m afraid.’

‘Come ahead.’ He approached.

The speaker was tall, muscular. Her hair was long, stained red. She wore tanned leathers. A longsword was scabbarded at her hip. Her skin was a deep bronze in hue. Cutter judged she was ten or more years older than him, and he felt a shiver run through him when he lifted his gaze and met her tilted, gold-hued eyes.

The other woman was unarmed, older, and her entire right side, head, face, torso and leg, was horrifically burned-the flesh fused with wisps of clothing, mangled and melted by the ravages of a sorcerous attack. It was a wonder that she was standing-or even alive.

Hanging back a step from these two was the man. Cutter guessed that he was Dal Honese, dusky-skinned, grey-shot black curled hair on his head cut short-though his eyes were, incongruously, a deep blue. His features were even enough, though crisscrossed with scars. He wore a battered hauberk, a plain longsword at his belt, and an expression so closed he could be Apsalar’s brother.

The flanking marines were in full armour, helmed and visored. ‘Are you the only survivors?’ Cutter asked. The first woman scowled.

‘I have little time,’ the Daru went on. ‘We need your help. The Edur are assailing us-’

‘Edur?’

Cutter blinked, then nodded. ‘The seafarers you fought. Tiste Edur. They are seeking something on this island, something of vast power and we’d rather it not fall into their hands. And why should you help? Because if it does fall into their hands, the Malazan Empire is likely finished. In fact, so is all of humanity-’

The burned woman cackled, then broke into a fit of coughing that frothed her mouth with red bubbles. After a long moment, the woman recovered. ‘Oh, to be young again! All of humanity, is it? Why not the whole world?’

‘The Throne of Shadow is on this island,’ Cutter said.

At this, the Dal Honese man started slightly.

The burned woman was nodding. ‘Yes yes yes, true words. The sense of things arrives-in a flood! Tiste Edur, Tiste Edur, a fleet set out on a search, a fleet from far away, and now they’ve found it. Ammanas and Cotillion are about to be usurped, and what of it? The Throne of Shadow-we fought the Edur for that? Oh, what a waste-our ships, the marines-my own life, for the Throne of Shadow?’ She spasmed into coughing once more.

‘Not our battle,’ the other woman growled. ‘We weren’t even looking for a fight, but the fools weren’t interested in actually talking, in exchanging emissaries-Hood knows, this is not our island, not within the Malazan Empire. Look elsewhere-’

‘No,’ the Dal Honese rumbled.

The woman turned in surprise. ‘We were clear enough, Traveller, in our gratitude to you for saving our lives. But that hardly permits you to assume command-’

‘The Throne must not be claimed by the Edur,’ the man named Traveller said. ‘I have no desire to challenge your command, Captain, but the lad speaks without exaggeration when he describes the risks… to the empire and to all of humanity. Like it or not, the Warren of Shadow is now human-aspected…’ he smiled crookedly, ‘and it well suits our natures.’ The smile vanished. ‘This battle is ours-we face it now or we face it later.’

‘You claim this fight in the name of the Malazan Empire?’ the captain asked.

‘More than you know,’ Traveller replied.

The captain gestured to one of her marines. ‘Gentur, get the others out here, but leave Mudslinger with the wounded. Then have the squads count quarrels-I want to know what we have.’

The marine named Gentur uncocked his crossbow then slipped back into the cave. A few moments later more soldiers emerged, sixteen in all when counting those who had originally come out.

Cutter walked up to the captain. ‘There is one of power among [missing text] at the burned woman-who was leaning over and spitting out murky blood. ‘Is she a sorceress?’

The captain followed his gaze and frowned. ‘She is, but she is dying. The power you-’

The air reverberated to a distant concussion and Cutter wheeled. ‘They’ve attacked again! With magic this time-follow me!’ Without a backward look, the Daru set off down the trail. He heard a faint curse behind him, then the captain began shouting orders.

The path led directly to the courtyard, and from the thundering detonations pounding again and again, Cutter judged the troop would have no difficulty in finding the place of battle-he would not wait for them. Apsalar was there, and Darist, and a handful of untrained Tiste Andu youths-they would have little defence against sorcery. But Cutter believed he did.

He sprinted on through the gloom, his right hand closed about his aching left arm, seeking to hold it in place, though each jostling stride lanced pain into his chest.

The nearest wall of the courtyard came into view. Colours were playing wildly in the air, thrashing the trees to all sides, deep reds and magenta and blues, a swirling chaos. The waves of concussions were increasing in frequency, pounding within the courtyard. There were no Edur outside the archway-an ominous sign. Cutter raced for the opening. Movement to his right caught his attention, and he saw another company of Edur, coming up from a coast trail but still sixty paces distant. The Malazans will have to deal with those… Queen of Dreams help them. The gate was before him, and he caught first sight of what was happening in the courtyard.

Four Edur stood in a line in the centre, their backs to him. A dozen or more Edur warriors waited on each flank, scimitars held ready. Waves of magic rolled out from the four, pulsing, growing ever stronger-and each one flowed over the flagstones in a tumbling storm of colours, to hammer into Darist.

Who stood alone, at his feet a dead or unconscious Apsalar. Behind him, the scattered bodies of Anomander Rake’s grandchildren. Somehow, Darist still held his sword upright-though he was a shredded mass of blood, bones visible through the wreckage of his chest. He stood before the crashing waves, yet would not take a single step back, even as they tore him apart. The sword Grief was white hot, the metal singing a terrible, keening note that grew louder and more piercing with every moment that passed.

‘Blind,’ Cutter hissed as he closed, ‘I need you now!’

Shadows blossomed around him, then four heavy paws thumped onto the flagstones, and the Hound’s looming presence was suddenly at his side.

One of the Edur spun round. Unhuman eyes widened on seeing Blind, then the sorcerer snapped out something in a harsh, commanding tone.