Shadow is ever besieged, for that is its nature. Whilst darkness devours, and light steals. And so one sees shadow ever retreat to hidden places, only to return in the wake of the war between dark and light.
Observations of the Warrens
THE ROPE HAD VISITED THE EDUR SHIPS. CORPSES LAY EVERYWHERE, already rotting on the deck beneath squabbling, shrieking gulls and crows. Cutter stood near the prow and watched in silence as Apsalar walked among the bodies, pausing every now and then to examine some detail or other, her measured calm leaving the Daru chilled.
They had drawn the sleek runner up alongside, and Cutter could hear its steady bumping against the hull as the morning breeze continued to freshen. Despite the enlivening weather, lassitude gripped them both. They were to sail away, but precisely where had not been specified by the patron god of assassins. Another servant of Shadow awaited them… somewhere.
He tested his left arm once more, lifting it out to the side. The shoulder throbbed, but not as badly as yesterday. Fighting with knives was all very well, until one had to face an armoured sword-wielder, then the drawbacks to short-bladed, close-in stickers became all too apparent.
He needed, he concluded, to learn the use of the bow. And then, once he’d acquired some competence, perhaps a long-knife-a Seven Cities weapon that combined the advantages of a knife with the reach of a three- quarter-length longsword. For some reason, the thought of using a true longsword did not appeal to him. Perhaps because it was a soldier’s weapon, best used in conjunction with a shield or buckler. A waste of his left hand, given his skills. Sighing, Cutter looked down at the deck and, fighting revulsion, scanned the corpses beneath the jostling birds.
And saw a bow. Its string had been cut through, and the arrows lay scattered out from a quiver still strapped to an Edur’s hip. Cutter stepped over and crouched down. The bow was heavier than it looked, sharply recurved and braced with horn. Its length was somewhere between a longbow and a horse warrior’s bow-probably a simple short bow for these Edur. Unstrung, it stood at a height matching Cutter’s shoulders.
He began collecting the arrows, then, waving to drive back the gulls and crows, he dragged the archer’s corpse clear and removed the belted quiver. He found a small leather pouch tied near it containing a half-dozen waxed strings, spare fletching, a few nuggets of hard pine sap, a thin iron blade and three spare barbed arrowheads.
Selecting one of the strings, Cutter straightened. He slipped one of the cord-bound ends into the notch at the bow’s base end, then anchored the weapon against the outside of his right foot and pushed down on the upper rib.
Harder than he’d expected. The bow shook as he struggled to slip the loop into the notch. Finally succeeding, Cutter lifted the bow for a more gauging regard, then drew it back. The breath hissed between his teeth as he sought to hold the weapon taut. This would, he realized as he finally relaxed the string, prove something of a challenge.
Sensing eyes on him, he turned.
Apsalar stood near the main mast. Flecks and globules of dried blood covered her forearms.
‘What have you been doing?’ he asked.
She shrugged. ‘Looking around.’
‘Have you decided where yet?’
‘I’m sure that will be answered soon enough,’ he said, bending down to collect the arrows and the belt holding the quiver and kit pouch.
‘The sorcery here is… strange.’
His head snapped up. ‘What do you mean?’
‘I am not sure. My familiarity with warrens is somewhat vicarious.’
‘But,’ she continued, ‘if this is Kurald Emurlahn, then it is tainted in some way. Necromantically. Life and death magicks, carved directly into the wood of this ship. As if warlocks and shoulder-women had done the consecrating.’
Cutter frowned. ‘Consecrating. You make it sound as if this ship was a temple.’
‘It was. Is. The spilling of blood has done nothing to desecrate it, which is precisely my point. Perhaps even warrens can sink into barbarity.’
‘Meaning the wielders of a warren can affect its nature. My late uncle would have found the notion fascinating. Not desecration, then, but
She slowly glanced around. ‘Rashan. Meanas. Thyr.’
He comprehended the thought. ‘You think all warrens accessible to humans are in fact denigrations of Elder Warrens.’
She raised her hands then. ‘Even blood decays.’
Cutter’s frown deepened. He was not sure what she meant by that, and found himself disinclined to ask. Easier, safer, to simply grunt and make his way to the gunnel. ‘We should make use of this breeze. Assuming you’re done here.’
In answer she walked to the ship’s side and clambered over the rail.
Cutter watched her climb down to the runner, taking her place at the tiller. He paused for a final look around. And stiffened.
On the distant strand of Drift Avalii, there stood a lone figure, leaning on a two-handed sword.
Traveller.
And Cutter now saw that there were others, squatting or seated around him. A half-dozen Malazan soldiers. In the trees behind them stood Tiste Andu, silver-haired and ghostly. The image seemed to burn in his mind, as of a touch so cold as to feel like fire. He shivered, pulling his gaze away with an effort, and quickly joined Apsalar in the runner, taking the mooring line with him.
He set the oars in their locks and pushed the craft away from the ship’s black hull.
‘I believe they intend to commandeer this Edur dromon,’ Apsalar said.
‘What about protecting the Throne?’
‘There are demons from Shadow on the island now. Your patron god has clearly decided to take a more active role in defending the secret.’
‘
‘No doubt if he could, he would,’ she replied. ‘But when Anomander Rake placed his kin here to guard it, he also wrought sorcery around the Throne. It will not be moved.’
Cutter shipped the oars and began preparing the sail. ‘Then Shadowthrone need only come here and plant his scrawny arse on it, right?’
He disliked her answering smile. ‘Thus ensuring that no-one else could claim its power, or the position of King of High House Shadow. Unless, of course, they killed Shadowthrone first. A god of courage and unassailable power might well plant his scrawny arse on that throne to end the argument once and for all. But Shadowthrone did just that, once before, as Emperor Kellanved.’
‘He did?’
‘He claimed the First Throne. The throne of the T’lan Imass.’
‘Fortunately,’ Apsalar continued, ‘as Shadowthrone, he has shown little interest in making use of his role as Emperor of the T’lan Imass.’
‘Well, why bother? This way, he negates the chance of anyone else finding and taking that throne, while his avoidance of using it himself ensures that no-one takes notice he has it in the first place-gods, I’m starting to sound like Kruppe! In any case, that seems clever, not cowardly.’
She studied him for a long moment. ‘I had not thought of that. You are right, of course. Unveiling power
